;*    V         ^"^  — — 

i  BUCMEER 

FREDERIC  -S- 
ISHAM 


THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 


'A  man  would  fight  hard  for  you" 


THE 
SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

By 

FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 


Author  of 

UNDER  THE  ROSE 
HALF  A  CHANCE,  ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BT 

W.  B,  KING 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &  DUNLlVP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   LOST    BONDS 

CCTTTHAT?  Another  contribution  from  Mr. 
W  Chatfield  Bruce?" 

"  Yes,  ladies  of  the  board,  your  treasurer  re- 
ceived this  morning  a  check,  drawn  on  the  People's 
National  Bank,  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  the  amount 
needed  by  the  settlement  for  the  new  playground." 

"  Mr.  Bruce  seems  very  much  interested  in  our 
work;  but  then  he  enjoys  the  reputation  of  being  a 
most  charitable  young  man." 

Madam  President  beamed  benignly  about  her; 
most  of  the  ladies  were  beaming;  for  the  moment, 
the  routine  of  business  was  neglected. 

"  Quite  a  remarkable  case ! "  It  was  the  treas- 
urer who  spoke.  "  Here  we  find  a  young  man, 
not  more  than  six  and  twenty,  preferring  to  spend 

I 


T'IOO 

/ 788 


2  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

his  money  in  charitable  matters,  instead  of  fling- 
ing it  away  in  idle  frivolities ! " 

"  I  have  heard  he  doesn't  spend  any  of  his  in- 
heritance on  himself;  that  he  lives  only  on  what  he 
earns  in  some  sort  of  clerical  capacity  in  a  whole- 
sale store  on  lower  Broadway." 

"  And  yet  " —  the  speaker  was  a  young  girl, 
with  dark  hair  and  blue  eyes  — "  Mr.  Bruce  does 
not  convey  the  impression  of  one  so  charitably  in- 
clined! I  met  him  for  the  first  time  last  evening 
and  his  expression  was  that  of  veiled  raillery, — 
ironical  amusement,  I  might  almost  term  it,  when 
I  spoke  to  him  of  his  numerous  gifts :  '  Believe 
me,  Miss  Wood,  I  get  more  pleasure  and  diversion 
out  of  giving,  than  the  ladies  of  the  board  do  in 
receiving.'  It  was  not  so  much  his  words  as  his 
manner !  " 

"  By  his  deeds  we  will  judge  him,"  said  Madam 
President  urbanely.  "  This  is  a  cynical  age ;  al- 
though if  you  had  seen  him,  as  I  once  did  — " 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  girl  quickly. 

"  It  was  in  one  of  the  poorest  quarters ;  I 
chanced  to  go  there  on  an  errand  for  one  of  our 
societies.  In  a  horribly  squalid  room  Mr.  Bruce 


THE  LOST  BONDS  3 

—  who  is  immaculate  himself  —  sat  surrounded  by 
a  score  of  children,  dirty,  unkempt,  eating  some 
sticky  stuff  he  had  given  them  and  listening  to  him 
talk.  And  what,"  impressively,  "  do  you  think  he 
was  telling  these  poor  waifs?" 

"A  biblical  story?" 

"  Not  at  all.  Something  that  sounded  like  the 
Arabian  Nights  and  related  to  the  benevolent  deeds 

of  a  certain  old  Chinese  river  pirate."  ••»     / 

,  i 

Miss  Wood  laughed.  "  Well,  I'm  sure  they  were 
interested."  »-.~  .-:..  - 

"  They  were.  I  felt  almost  like  murmuring 
something  disapproving  to  Mr.  Bruce;  but  of 
course  could  not,  remembering — " 

"  He  would  probably  take  upon  himself  to  sup- 
port, send  to  school  and  to  care  for  these  little  dis- 
reputable mites  of  humanity." 

"  Exactly !  Besides  the  stories,  although  about 
pirates,  were  not  quite  what  you  would  call  im- 
moral. They  seemed  to  teach  a  lesson  in  their 

i 
way ;  not  the  conventional  one,  it  is  true ! " 

"  At  any  rate  he  is  charming,"  observed  the  treas- 
urer. "  He  is  welcomed  in  the  smartest  sets  in 
spite  of  his  peculiarities." 


4  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  I  hear  he  is  to  take  part  in  the  little  Japanese 
play  to  be  given  at  your  home,  Miss  Wood  ?  " 

The  girl  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Mr.  Bruce  should  be  well-fitted  for  a  role  of 
that  sort,"  observed  another  lady.  "He  was  born 
in  the  Far  East,  or  lived  there.  His  father  was  a 
missionary,  I  understand." 

"  No ;  a  physician !  " 

"  Official  adviser  to  one  of  the  viceroys,  I  have 
heard!" 

"  From  whom  " —  a  lady  of  the  board  who  had 
not  yet  spoken,  raised  her  voice  — "  did  he  inherit 
his  money  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  Madam  President,  "  is  a  question 
I  can  not  answer,  Mrs.  Van  Dusen.  Perhaps  some 
one  else — "  She  looked  around  her. 

"  I  have  been  told  his  uncle  was  a  forty-niner." 

"Ah,  one  of  those  California  fortunes!  " 

"  But  I  really  know  nothing  about  it,"  Miss 
Tucker,  who  had  vouchsafed  the  information,  con- 
scientiously hastened  to  add. 

"Any  other  business,  ladies,  to  come  before  the 
board  ?  "  The  president's  tones  were  again  short, 
matter-of-fact  "If  not  — " 


THE  LOST  BONDS  5 

"One  moment  before  we  adjourn!"  The  sec- 
retary spoke;  she  was  a  plump,  well-dressed 
woman  —  a  little  overdressed,  perhaps.  "  Our 
special  gymnasium  fund,  I  beg  to  report,  has  not 
quite  realized  the  proportions  we  had  hoped.  All 
the  people  on  our  list  have  been  seen;  unfortunately, 
the  usual  number  of  them  had  '  other  calls.' ' 

A  suggestion  of  a  cynical  smile  appeared  on  one 
or  two  faces;  that  on  the  countenance  of  Miss 
Tucker,  the  treasurer,  was  the  most  pronounced. 
She  was  a  lady  of  excellent  qualities,  descendant 
of  an  "  old  "  family ;  not  being  blessed  with  means, 
she  contributed  her  time  to  the  cause. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Samuel  Page  was  on  your  list?  " 
she  said  with  a  tightening  of  the  lips. 

"  Yes."  The  secretary  laughed  good-naturedly. 
"  One  always  sees  him  just  as  a  matter  of  form, 
because  he  is  so  rich.  Not  that  he  ever  gives;  or 
ever  will !  Mr.  Page  certainly  dislikes  to  part  with 
any  of  his  worldly  possessions." 

"  He  has  recently  parted  with  a  few  of  them,  if 
the  morning  paper  is  to  be  depended  upon,"  re- 
marked Madam  President  vivaciously. 

"To  charity?     No?" 


6  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Didn't  you  read  about  it  ?  My  husband  called 
my  attention  to  it.  Mr.  Page  claims  to  have  lost 
some  bonds  from  his  box  in  the  People's  National 
safety  deposit  vault.  Of  course,  the  officials  of  the 
bank  think  he  is  mistaken;  that  he  must  have  mis- 
laid them.  No  one  ever  loses  anything  that  way. 
I  asked  my  husband  and  he  said :  '  Stole  'em  him- 
self, most  likely! >:  Madam  President  imitated  a 
gruff  voice.  "  '  He's  mean  enough  to  rob  himself, 
if  he  can't  anybody  else ! '  The  members  of  the 
board  laughed,  all  save  Miss  Wood,  who  seemed 
rather  preoccupied. 

"  The  People's  National,"  observed  Miss  Tucker 
when  the  brief  merriment  had  subsided.  "  That," 
looking  at  a  check  she  held  in  her  hand,  "  is  one 
of  the  banks  Mr.  Bruce  does  business  with.  At 
least,  he  has  an  account  there." 

"  And  a  box,  too,  no  doubt,  if  the  amount  of  his 
wealth  is  not  overestimated !  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Madam  President,  with  a 
smile.  "  The  People's  National  has  vaults  that  are 
supposed  to  be  as  impregnable  as  those  of  the  Bank 
of  England." 

"  Which  makes  this  alleged  occurrence  the  more 


THE  LOST  BONDS  7 

curious!  But  how  much  does  Mr.  Page  claim  is 
missing?  " 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars!  " 

"  And  haven't  they  any  theory  of  how  they  might 
have  been  taken?  " 

"  No.  Mr.  Page  hasn't  been  to  his  box  for  some 
time.  It  is  his  belief  the  bonds,  extracted  in  some 
inexplicable  manner,  have  already  been  sold.  If 
they  had  been  registered  he  could  better  substan- 
tiate his  claim  and  trace  them;  but  they  weren't, 
for  fear,  no  doubt,  of  the  information  '  leaking 
out '  to  the  tax  commission.  Anyhow,  Mr.  Page 
has  repeatedly  sworn  to  having  no  personal  prop- 
erty like  taxable  bonds,  and  now  his  explanation 
of  their  not  being  registered  puts  him  in  a  peculiar 
light,  especially  as  the  newspaper  published  a  re- 
production of  his  own  sworn  statement  that  he 
never  had  any.  My  husband  says  that  under  the 
circumstances  the  bank  people  can  afford  to  laugh 
at  his  claim." 

"  Serves  him  right!  "  From  Miss  Tucker,  sotto 
*uoce.  She  had  approached  Mr.  Page  several  times 
herself  with  a  subscription  list. 

"  If  there  was  a  thief,  and  I  suppose  of  course 


8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

there  was,  I'll  warrant,  he,  also,  is  having  a  fine 
laugh,"  said  the  secretary,  smiling. 

"  Especially  as  the  tax  commission  are  threaten- 
ing to  sue  Mr.  Page  on  his  own  statements ! "  went 
on  the  president.  "  But  I  am  forgetting.  There 
was  one  thing  it  is  alleged  the  thief  did  leave  be- 
hind him,  that  Mr.  Page  showed  to  the  police.  A 
tiny  drawing  on  a  scrap  of  paper;  something  that 
looked  like  a  spike,  or  a  nail  or  needle,  and  an 
animal  that  might  have  been  a  buffalo  or  a  camel  — 
anyway  it  seemed  to  have  hump.  This,  Mr. 
Page  claimed,  lay  in  the  place  where  the  bonds 
had  been.  The  police  couldn't  make  anything  out 
of  the  crude  drawing." 

"  Might  not  the  thief  have  had  in  mind  a  certain 
biblical  quotation?"  suggested  one  of  the  board. 

"  Mr.  Page  thought  it  might  be  the  device  of 
some  secret  society;  but  the  detectives  scout  the 
idea.  They  seem,  in  fact,  to  take  the  bank  officials' 
view  of  the  situation." 

"  But  why,"  asked  Miss  Wood,  "  should  Mr.  Page 
stir  up  all  this  trouble  for  himself  to  no  purpose?  " 

"  Since  he  had  the  grippe,  some  people  say  — 
well,  he  hasn't  been  quite  the  man  he  was,"  an- 


THE  LOST  BONDS  9 

swered  Madam  President,  tapping  her  forehead 
lightly. 

"  And  besides,"  said  the  secretary,  "  you  forget, 
my  dear,  the  boxes  in  the  security  vaults  are  ab- 
solutely closed  to  all  who  have  not  the  right  of 
access  to  them." 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  "  It  is  true,  however, 
there  has  been  an  unusually  large  number  of  rob- 
beries in  New  York  lately,"  observed  Miss  Tucker 
tentatively. 

"  An  epidemic,"  asserted  a  voice. 

"  It  is  really  reprehensible  the  police  do  not  find 
the  perpetrators ! "  said  the  president  in  her  most 
severe  tone.  "  A  family  coronet  of  diamonds  here, 
and  wonderful  rubies  and  sapphires  there  —  miss- 
ing and  never  found;  no  trace  of  them!  '  Another 
Mysterious  Robbery  in  High  Life,'  sensational 
head-lines  in  the  newspapers;  and,  after  that — 'no 
clue  to  the  perpetrators.'  An  outrage  on  society, 
I  call  it  —  this  inaction  of  the  authorities." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  too  busy  collecting  perquisites 
in  what  is  called  the  '  tenderloin,'  to  look  after  these 
other  matters,"  commented  the  secretary  cynically. 

"  Ladies  " —  warningly  the  president  of  the  board 


io  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

spoke — "  I  fear  our  talk  has  to-day  drifted  into  un- 
usually irrelevant  channels.  The  blame  is  partly 
my  own." 

"  I  believe  we  had  transacted  all  necessary  busi- 
ness, Madam  President,"  the  secretary  ventured  to 
remark,  in  mild  apology  for  herself  and  her  sister 
members  of  the  board  —  if,  indeed  any  apology  were 
needed ! 

"  Before  we  adjourn,  there  is  one  other  little 
matter,"  observed  the  treasurer.  "  Mr.  Chatfield 
Bruce's  gift  of  ten  thousand  dollars  —  his  past 
generosity  —  I  believe  some  action  on  the  part  of 
the  board — " 

"  Move  the  board  pass  a  resolution  of  thanks 
and  that  the  same  be  forwarded  to  the  gentleman 
by  the  secretary." 

The  motion  was  carried;  also  a  motion  to  ad- 
journ. The  ladies  began  to  put  on  their  wraps; 
Miss  Wood  was  the  first  to  go.  As  she  descended 
the  steps  of  the  old,  down-town  mansion,  home  of 
one  of  the  ladies  of  the  board,  a  young  man  walk- 
ing briskly  by,  glanced  up.  A  sudden  quick  look 
of  recognition  swept  his  face. 

"  Who  is  he;  the  young  man  who  just  bowed  to 


II 


Miss  Wood?"  a  new  member  of  the  board  in- 
quired. 

"  That  " —  Madam  President,  emerging  from  the 
front  door,  paused  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  to  re- 
gard the  retreating  figure  of  the  person  indicated 

"  that,"  impressively,  "  is  our  very  good  friend, 
Mr.  Chatfield  Bruce." 


CHAPTER  II 

A    MEETING 

MR.  NATHAN  GOLDBERG,  importer  of 
French  silks  and  ladies'  goods,  gazed  in 
indubitable  satisfaction  at  the  latest  consignment  of 
boxes  filled  with  divers  articles  from  Paris.  They 
occupied  a  good  deal  of  space  in  the  rear  of  the 
large  store  on  lower  Broadway,  after  having  suc- 
cessfully passed  the  customs. 

"  We  are  in  a  position  to  undersell  the  trade, 
Mr.  Bruce,"  he  observed  in  a  low  tone  to  the  young 
man,  head  of  one  of  the  principal  departments  of 
the  large  wholesale  firm. 

"  I  congratulate  you."  The  speaker,  hammer  in 
hand,  turned.  He  was  a  young  fellow,  tall,  ath- 
letic, with  light  brown  hair,  fine,  immovable  fea- 
tures, enigmatic  mouth,  and  eyes  which  seemed  at 
once  ironically  humorous  and  impenetrable.  His 
dress  was  simple  but  immaculate.  "  Bought  cheap, 
I  suppose,"  he  added  in  a  quiet  voice. 

12 


A  MEETING  13 

"  Yes,  and  — "  Mr.  Goldberg  paused ;  half-ques- 
tioningly,  half-tentatively  regarded  his  employee. 
He  liked  the  young  man  whose  social  position  and 
little  eccentricities  dazzled  as  well  as  sometimes  be- 
wildered him.  There  were  moments  even,  as  now, 
when  the  employer  would  have  liked  to  "  get 
nearer  "  the  other,  but  Mr.  Bruce  gave  him  not  the 
slightest  pretext  for  confidences,  apart  from  the 
regular  routine  of  business;  his  manner  was  re- 
spectful, but  distant.  Somehow  any  desire  on  Mr. 
Goldberg's  part  to  create  a  closer,  more  personal 
relationship  with  his  clerk  slowly  vanished ;  the  keen 
sharp  eyes  of  the  business  man  met  the  well-con- 
tained gray  ones  of  his  employee.  "  Got  the  goods 
at  the  lowest  figure,"  said  Mr.  Goldberg.  "  Our 
buyer  was  unusually  fortunate." 

The  impersonal  gaze  of  Chatfield  Bruce  fell;  he 
began  to  work  on  the  box.  "  Came  through  all 
right  at  the  customs,  then,"  he  remarked  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

Mr.  Goldberg's  glance  shifted.  "  Naturally. 
Our  firm  always  deals  square  with  the  government, 
and  so  we  never  have  any  trouble.  Honesty's  the 
best  policy;  that's  my  maxim;  eh,  Mr.  Bruce?" 


14  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

A  faint  trace  of  some  emotion  passed  around  the 
corner  of  the  young  man's  lips;  he  pounded  at  a 
nail.  "  You  may  be  sure  I  know  that,  Mr.  Gold- 
berg, or — " 

"  You  wouldn't  work  for  me !  That's  what  you 
mean?  "  jocosely. 

Mr.  Bruce  made  a  deprecatory  gesture ;  continued 
his  task.  Mr.  Goldberg  watched  the  supple  move- 
ments of  his  figure;  the  hands,  thin,  long,  muscu- 
lar; well-kept.  Those  hands  rather  fascinated  Mr. 
Goldberg. 

"  See  here,  Bruce ! "  He  liked  occasionally  to 
call  the  young  fellow  by  his  last  name,  the  way  the 
latter's  swell  friends  did.  "  You  ought  not  to  be 
doing  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"  Opening  boxes  ?  "  Bruce  laughed.  "  Yes ; 
I'm  aware  my  salary  demands  a  higher  kind  of 
labor,  but  " —  straightening  — "  things  were  for  the 
moment  slack  up-stairs,  and  —  well,  it  seemed  as 
if  I  wanted  the  exercise.  But  I  shan't  be  at  it 
long;  I  promise  shortly  to  return  to  my  more  im- 
portant duties." 

"  Oh,  I  was  only  thinking  it  wasn't  the  kind  of 
job  for  a  man  with  hands  like  yours.  You've  got 


A  MEETING  15 

the  swagger  society  thing  in  hands.  Now  look  at 
mine,"  extending  a  stubby  pair.  "  Not  much  alike, 
are  they?  But  if  you  find  things  slack,  take  a  half 
day  off,  not  forgetting,"  jocularly,  "  to  tell  your 
friends  that  the  retailers  will  soon  be  supplied  with 
Goldberg's — "  Here  he  mentioned  several  brands 
of  articles  that  masqueraded  under  the  firm  name. 

Bruce's  smile  was  enigmatic.  "  Never  forget 
that,"  he  remarked.  And  Goldberg,  though  slightly 
puzzled,  knew  he  told  the  truth.  He  lived  in  a  big 
house  himself;  the  prestige  of  employing  a  man 
like  Bruce  counted  for  something.  Besides,  oddly, 
the  young  fellow  really  earned  his  salary.  Not  that 
he  needed  it;  Chatfield  Bruce,  Mr.  Goldberg  knew, 
kept  two  sets  of  books. 

One  dealt  with  his  inheritance  which  this  eccen- 
tric young  man  for  some  inexplicable  reason  never 
touched,  save  for  charitable  purposes;  the  other 
comprised  a  journal  and  ledger  of  his  actual  per- 
sonal earnings  and  expenditures.  He  made  a  good 
salary,  lived  modestly  and  was  a  careful  spender, 
although  moving  in  the  most  exclusive  sets.  His 
habits,  which  were  orderly,  made  it  possible  for 
one  of  his  limited  earning  capacity  to  keep  alive  a 


1 6  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

large  circle  of  friends;  he  could  waive  certain  ex- 
travagances with  good  grace :  "  Not  for  me,  thank 
you!  You  know  my  salary?  Wait,"  with  inimi- 
table imitation  of  his  employer's  accents,  "  until  I 
am  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Goldberg  and  Com- 
pany." Protests  of  this  character  were  indulgently 
received ;  he  was  humored  as  an  "  original." 

"  By  the  way,  Bruce,"  the  elder  man  continued, 
"  we're  going  to  open  our  new  country  home  at 
Comscot  with  a  grand  house  party.  Will  it  be 
swell  enough  for  you  to  come  ?  "  A  little  earnest- 
ness mingled  with  the  facetiousness  of  his  tone. 

"  Why  not  ? "  said  the  young  man  evenly. 
"When  is  it?"1 

"  In  August ;  your  vacation  time." 

"  Ah !  I  had  made  other  plans.  Still  it  may  be 
possible."  Mr.  Goldberg  regarded  him  suspi- 
ciously. "  Shall  we  say  for  the  first  day  or  two, 
i  f  I  can  make  it  ?  " 

"  All  right.  There's  going  to  be  a  big  band  (Mr. 
Goldberg  said  'pig  pand ')  and  all  kinds  of  such 
nonsense,  and  the  women  will  wear  their  biggest 
diamonds  —  in  fact,  I  promised  my  wife  the  real, 
bang-up  thing.  I  can  afford  it."  His  glance  shifted 


A  MEETING  17 

a  moment  to  the  boxes.  "  Business  looks  very  good 
just  now." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best  to  accept,  Mr.  Goldberg,  and 
on  second  thought  I  really  think  I  can  arrange  it, 
—  many  thanks !  " 

"  Don't  mention  it ! "  A  moment  yet  the  em- 
ployer lingered.  "  You  haven't  met  my  daughter, 
I  believe?  She  is  one  of  those  'buds,'  this  year's, 
don't  you  know,  and  will  wear  the  Goldberg  pearls 
for  the  first  time." 

"  Indeed  ?  That  should  make  the  occasion  inter- 
esting. The  famous  Goldberg  pearls !  " 

"  You  couldn't  possibly  find  sixty-seven  better 
matched  beauties  anywhere;  weight  over  fifteen 
hundred!" 

"  Sixty-seven?  Over  fifteen  hundred?  "  repeated 
the  young  man  slowly.  "  And  perfect  in  color,  I 
presume  ?  " 

"  All  pure  white ;  couldn't  tell  them  apart,  so 
near  the  same  size !  " 

"  Spheres,  of  course?  " 

"Of  course;  with  no  perceptible  flaws;  cost  over 
three  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  francs,  my 
boy." 


i8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Including  the  duty  ? "  Bruce's  voice  had  a 
faintly  peculiar  inflection. 

"  Oh,  yes;  of  course!  "  hastily. 

"  But  aren't  you  " —  Mr.  Bruce  smiled  — "  rather 
reckless  in  taking  them  out  of  the  strong  box  into 
the  country?  So  many  articles  of  value  mysteri- 
ously disappearing  nowadays,  don't  you  know?  " 

"  Ever  hear  of  anybody  taking  anything  from 
me  ? "  Mr.  Goldberg's  chest  perceptibly  swelled. 
"  Was  born  with  my  eyes  open.  But  we  can  rely 
upon  you,  then,  for  the  house  party?  " 

Mr.  Bruce's  reply  was  positive.  Mr.  Goldberg 
turned;  he  felt  satisfied  with  the  assurance. 
Bruce's  name  would  look  very  well  among  those 
who  were  to  congregate  at  the  Goldberg  house. 
Many  wealthy  people  would  be  present,  but  no 
others  of  the  really  inner  set.  Perhaps  Mr.  Gold- 
berg, also,  seemed  to  see  in  print  something  like 
"  Miss  Goldberg,  wearing  the  Goldberg  pearls,  went 
out  to  an  elaborate  collation  on  the  arm  of  Mr. 
Chatfield  Bruce."  And  the  father  of  that  young 
lady  hummed  lightly  as  he  walked  away. 

Mr.  Bruce  continued  to  work  at  one  of  the  boxes. 
Slowly  but  surely  he  conquered  iron  bands  and 


A  MEETING  19 

fastenings;  he  removed  long  wire  nails  without 
injuring  those  of  his  own  supple  fingers.  Some- 
times he  paused  to  survey  contemplatively  the  box, 
and  at  such  a  moment  his  tall,  slender  figure  ap- 
peared to  advantage  among  those  other  employees, 
the  regular  corps  of  husky,  perspiring  box-openers. 
Bruce's  shirt  —  for  he  labored  without  a  coat  — 
was  spotless;  it  was  equally  so  when,  after  wash- 
ing his  hands,  he  put  on  the  coat  he  had  carefully 
hung  on  one  of  the  pegs  near  by.  The  pointers 
of  the  office  clock  indicated  that  the  noon  hour  had 
come  and  the  young  man  walked  to  the  door  and 
went  out. 

He  stopped  at  two  places,  one  a  florist's, 
where  he  purchased  a  tiny  orchid  of  deep  purple, 
almost  odorless.  This  he  set  in  the  button-hole 
of  his  coat.  The  flower  was  unobtrusive,  Malayan 
in  origin.  Few  knew  its  rarity.  In  buying  it,  Mr. 
Bruce  permitted  himself  a  slight  extravagance. 
But  he  atoned  by  a  frugal  luncheon.  His  second 
stop  was  at  a  restaurant  of  the  white  porcelain 
variety,  where  a  person  with  white  gloves  manipu- 
lated pan-cakes  in  the  front  window. 

Mr.  Bruce  mounted  a  stool,  gave  his  order  and 


20  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

and  had  started  to  read  the  newspaper  he  had  pur- 
chased at  the  door,  when  his  neighbor  at  the  long 
table  spoke  to  him.  At  the  sound  of  that  metallic 
voice,  the  young  fellow  looked  around  into  the 
harshly  wrinkled  face  of  a  man  about  seventy;  a 
countenance  whereon  parsimony  and  avarice  had 
set  their  seal. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Page !  Any  news  about  the  bonds  ?  " 
perfunctorily. 

"  No,  there  isn't,"  curtly.  As  the  old  capital- 
ist spoke  he  glanced  sidewise  at  some  one  on  the 
other  side  of  him.  This  individual,  stocky,  com- 
monplace-looking, continued,  however,  to  gaze  un- 
concernedly before  him,  while  deliberately  using  his 
knife  and  fork;  only  the  lids  of  his  nondescript 
eyes  lifted  slightly. 

Chatfield  Bruce  regarded  the  mirror  in  front  of 
them,  the  divers  visages  reflected  there,  and  smiled. 
The  sight  of  a  row  of  men  eating  at  the  "  hurry-up  " 
counter  has  its  comical  features.  The  young  man 
stroked  lightly,  meditatively  his  upper  lip.  "  Do 
you  know,  I  have  a  little  theory  about  those  bonds, 
Mr.  Page,"  he  drawled. 

"Perhaps  you  think  they  weren't  taken  at  all?" 


A  MEETING  21 

snapped  the  other.  "  Like  some  folks  " —  viciously 
— "pretend  to  tell  me.  That  it's  only  a  mistake 
on  my  part.  A  mistake!"  he  repeated.  "That 
they're  mislaid  somewhere." 

"  No ;  I  don't  think  that.  You  know  I  have  a 
box  at  that  vault,  or  did  have,"  quietly,  "  until  this 
mishap  of  yours  led  me  to  make  a  change." 

"Glad  of  it!  That  you've  left  them!  I  hope 
they'll  lose  all  their  business." 

"  Of  course  I  may  be  mistaken,"  Bruce  continued 
in  the  same  even  voice.  "  A  theory  is  but  a  theory, 
and  I  dare  say,  you've  listened  to  a  great  many 
already." 

"  A  bushel  of  them ! "  Mr.  Page's  tones  con- 
yeyed  no  great  respect  for  theories.  Again  he 
started  to  look  in  the  direction  of  the  man  on  the 
other  side. 

"Have  you  ever  thought  of  this?  It  came  to 
me  the  other  day  when  removing  my  papers  and 
other  little  matters  from  the  People's  National. 
Suppose  another  customer  of  the  bank,  while 
ostensibly  attending  to  the  combination  of  his  own 
box,  should  manage  to  look  over  your  shoulder  and 
learn  the  combination  of  yours  when  you  were 


22  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

operating  it.  Perhaps  your  eyes  are  not  so  strong 
as  they  once  were  and  you  might  have  to  take 
your  time  with  the  combination  —  which  would 
favor  his  observation." 

"  Is  it  very  likely  I'd  let  any  one  look  over  my 
shoulder  long  enough  to  find  out  the  combination? 
If  there's  any  one  standing  near,  I  always  know 
which  way  he's  looking  and  what  he's  about,"  suc- 
cinctly. 

"  Suppose  he  managed  to  get  one  part  of  it,  one 
time;  another  part  of  it,  another  time?"  continued 
the  other  in  a  dispassionate,  argumentative  tone. 
"  Suppose  he  found  out  the  first  number  of  the 
combination  a  year  ago;  the  second,  some  while 
later,  and  so  on?  Suppose  he  had  made  a  sys- 
tematic study  of  your  habits,  your  business  routine, 
and  determined  at  all  hazards,  no  matter  how  long 
it  took  him,  to  accomplish  the  seemingly  impos- 
sible? Suppose  he  had  a  bit  of  the  gambler's 
streak  in  his  moral  make-up?  Liked  to  work  long 
chances?  I  put  myself  these  questions,  because  I, 
too,  have  securities  that  need  to  be  guarded;  not 
exactly  my  own;  left,  as  it  were,  in  trust  for 
a  purpose."  Brace's  eyes  dropped  slightly. 


A  MEETING  23 

"  Though  practically  mine,  if  I  chose  to  call  them 
so/'  he  added. 

Mr.  Page  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  latter  portion 
of  the  young  man's  remarks ;  with  the  first  part 
he  was  principally  concerned.  "  I'm  a  careful 
man,"  he  said,  "  and  a  person  would  have  to  have 
eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head  ever  to  stand  near 
enough  to  me  under  the  circumstances,  to  be  able 
to  learn — " 

"  A  customer,  papers  in  hand,  could  pass  at  the 
right  moment  and  detect  more  than  you  think,  per- 
haps, if  he  wore  very  strong  glasses.  Or " — 
glancing  casually  before  him — "there's  the  mirror 
idea.  The  shiny  lifted  lid  of  a  bright  security  box 
of  tin,  in  the  hands  of  some  one  near  by,  ap- 
parently searching  for  something  therein,  or  de- 
positing something,  might  answer  a  sinister  pur- 
pose. Or — "  He  broke  off;  the  reflection  in  the 
glass  of  the  man  on  the  other  side  of  Mr.  Page  had 
for  the  moment  caught  Bruce's  eye.  "  There  are 
a  dozen  different  ways,"  he  went  on  again,  in  the 
same  tone,  "  but  I  won't  weary  you  with  my 
amateur  theories.  Will  only  call  your  attention  to 
the  fact  that  in  these  calculations,  the  officials  of 


24  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  safety  deposit  company  are,  also,  to  be  reckoned 
with." 

"  I  reckon  there  isn't  much  in  your  theories," 
said  the  old  man  dryly,  "  that  hasn't  already  been 
considered.  I'm  not  saying  a  great  deal ;  however  " 
—  the  thin  mouth  shut  tightly  — "  I'm  like  a  cat 
after  a  mouse,  for  patience,  when  it  comes  to  — " 

"  Waiter ! "  the  man  next  to  Mr.  Page  called 
sharply;  the  aged  capitalist  suddenly  paused  in 
what  he  was  saying.  Bruce,  too,  spoke  no  more; 
with  an  occasional  glance  at  his  newspaper,  he  ate 
the  frugal  luncheon  set  before  him.  He  did  not  lin- 
ger over  it  long,  finished  before  his  neighbors,  paid 
his  check  and  walked  out.  As  he  turned  at  the 
front  door,  however,  he  looked  back.  The  stocky 
commonplace  individual  had  at  that  moment  leaned 
over  to  speak  with  Mr.  Page. 

Bruce  bent  over  the  orchid.  He  seemed  lost  in 
the  contemplation  of  its  beauty;  breathed  on  the 
leaves.  They,  strangely  sensitive,  opened  wider. 
The  young  man  laughed  softly. 


CHAPTER  III 

"  LAVENDRE   AMBREE  " 

SEVERAL  days  later,  Mr.  Bruce  sauntered 
meditatively  along  Fifth  Avenue  toward  the 
park.  It  was  bright  spring  weather,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  tonic  qualities  from  the  sea.  Little 
whiffs  of  perfumes,  too,  borne  by  the  breezes  from 
near-by  verdure  and  beds  of  flowers,  regaled  the 
senses  of  passing  pedestrians,  susceptible  to  delicate 
fragrance.  The  young  man  had  a  far-eastern  keen- 
ness in  this  regard ;  had  he  been  born  in  the  shadows 
of  a  Golden  Pavilion,  set  in  the  conventional  lake 
of  tranquillity,  he  would  have  delighted  in  the  in- 
cense box  and  the  amicable  competition  of  guessing 
illusive  odors. 

On  a  day  like  this,  all  classes  and  conditions 
were  astir  in  the  people's  breathing  space  as  he 
stepped  into  and  down  one  of  the  paths.  The 
tramps  dozed;  the  children  romped.  A  few  more 

25 


26  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

horsemen  and  women  than  usual  were  in  evidence. 
Machines  of  all  the  "  makes,"  from  the  silent  and 
insinuating  electric  to  the  noisy  and  self-assertive 
,  taxicab,  moved  hither  and  thither.  Mr.  Bruce's  in- 
come at  Messrs.  Goldberg  and  Company's  was  not 
sufficient,  at  least  so  he  thought,  to  enable  him  to 
own  and  to  maintain  a  machine.  So  he  walked. 

He  had  not  gone  far,  however,  when  a  shiny 
vehicle,  of  a  beautiful  blue,  with  a  pretty  monogram 
on  the  door,  passed  him  noiselessly ;  then  stopped  at 
the  side  of  the  path.  Mr.  Bruce  saw  white  flowers 
—  a  tiny  bouquet  that  adorned  the  interior  of  the 
dainty  vehicle  —  then  buds  of  other  colors  and  a 
girl's  face  beneath;  blue  eyes  below  a  wave  of  black 
hair,  red  lips  slightly  apart  as  she  bent  forward  in 
the  sunlight. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Bruce."  She  looked  out 
of  the  window.  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  you." 

Another  would  have  expressed  himself  as  for- 
tunate. Mr.  Bruce  only  bowed  and  very  deferen- 
tially waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  We  have  at  last  settled  on  a  Japanese  play,  the 
one  we  plan  to  give  in  the  autumn,"  she  explained, 
"  and  as  you  have  consented  to  take  part,  I  —  that 


"LAVENDRE  AMBREE "  27 

is,  we  —  wanted  to  ask  if  it,  and  your  role,  would 
be  acceptable." 

"  As  I  said  when  the  matter  was  first  broached 
to  me,  I  am  quite  at  your  disposal,  Miss  Wood. 
But  what  is  the  play?" 

"  San  Tankyo;  The  Beggar-Prince." 

Bruce  straightened  slightly.  "Not  by — ?" 
He  mentioned  a  name. 

"  Yes ;  I  remember,  because  " —  the  girl's  lips 
curved — "we  once  gave  it  in  school." 

He  looked  down.  She  fancied  his  expression  had 
changed  in  the  least;  that  he  was  thinking  deeply, 
though  he  swung  his  stick  with  an  assumption  of 
lightness.  This  surprised  her,  she  did  not  quite 
know  why;  she  regarded  him  in  the  least  curiously. 

"If  you  have  any  objections?" — she  began. 

"None  at  all,"  quickly.  "What  part "— an 
enigmatic  expression  crossing  his  clean-cut  features 
— "  did  you  wish  me  to  take  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  man's  role  of  any  consequence, 
that  of  the  beggar-prince;  the  other  men  —  notably 
the  great  Shogun  —  are  only  talked  about." 

"  The  beggar-prince  who  — "  Bruce  stopped  sud- 
denly; his  laugh  sounded  a  little  strange  to  her. 


28  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

The  girl's  blue  eyes  widened  in  the  least.  "  But 
certainly  " —  he  checked  himself  — "  that  is,  if  you 
think  I  am  equal  to  the  role.  Odd,  though,"  he 
added,  "you  should  have  chosen  that  particular 
piece.  Rank  socialism,  most  people  would  call  it !  " 

"  Then  I  venture  to  disagree  with  them." 

His  eyes  dared  to  be  amused.  "  You  will  set  a 
new  fashion  in  problem  plays,"  he  observed.  "  But 
what  part  did  you  take,  Miss  Wood,  in  school,  if 
I  may  ask  ?  " 

"  That  of  the  beggar-prince." 

"  Ah !  "  He  looked  at  her,  tall  and  straight ;  an 
ideal  Rosalind  —  or  a  beggar-prince.  Yet  he  was 
not  thinking  of  her.  She  knew,  too,  his  thoughts 
were  at  the  moment  far  off;  remote  from  school- 
girl entertainments,  enthusiasms  of  the  class-room. 
Somehow  he  vaguely  offended  her ;  at  the  same  time, 
it  may  have  been  interest,  or  that  other  feeling, 
her  sex's  legitimate  inheritance,  swayed  her  to 
linger. 

"  I  will  send  you  the  part/'  she  observed,  her 
tone  rather  reserved. 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary,"  he  answered.  "  I 
have  it." 


" LAVENDRE  AMBREE "  29 

"  Indeed?  "  interested  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Both  in  the  original  and  the  English." 

"  And  you  can  read  the  former  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  is  one  of  many  in  a  little  drawer  of 
the  desk  of  a  tiny  princess  who  lived  two  hundred 
years  ago.  The  manuscript  is  a  dainty  plaything 
tied  with  a  ribbon  and  beautifully  decorated  with 
appropriate  flowers.  It  looks  both  pretty  and  — 
harmless,"  he  laughed. 

Miss  Wood  had  heard  people  say  they  did  not 
understand  Chatfield  Bruce;  that  he  was  a  poseur, 
a  dilettante,  or  an  arbiter  elegantlarum,  at  will. 
She  might  well  believe  that;  he  certainly  seemed 
in  an  eccentric  mood  at  the  present  moment.  The 
girl  felt  inclined  to  leave  him  alone.  Her  gloved 
hands  tightened  on  the  handle  of  her  machine ;  she 
was  about  to  nod,  very  stiffly,  hardly  perceptibly, 
but  instead,  did  something  perverse. 

"If  you  have  any  objective  point,  Mr.  Bruce?" 
Miss  Wood's  glance  vaguely  indicated  a  place  in 
her  car. 

"Alas;  I  haven't!"  He  laughed.  At  the  in- 
stant he  seemed  to  her  suddenly  more  natural.  "  A 
half -holiday,  you  see,  and  Mr.  Goldberg,  my  em- 


30  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

ployer,  gives  me  an  afternoon  off.  That  is,  on  con- 
dition." 

"On  condition?"  She  deigned  to  ask  him  the 
question,  although  she  held  herself  quite  erect  and 
allowed  her  eyes  to  wander  indifferently  above 
him. 

"  That  I  don't  fail  to  mention,  incidentally  of 
course,  some  of  the  Goldberg  specialties  to  my; 
'  swagger  friends/  as  he  calls  them." 

"Should  I  be  included  in  that  class?"  She 
laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Can  you  ask?  But  in  this  instance  I  will  for- 
bear all  mention  of  the  specialties,  even  at  the  risk 
of  my  employer's  displeasure." 

"  Thanks."  Her  eyes  began  to  show  a  slight  im- 
patience. "  But  if  you  — " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  ungracious,"  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone,  "  but  — " 

"  You  prefer  to  walk !  " 

"  It  is  my  custom.  You  see  I  can  not  afford  to 
cultivate  the  motor  taste." 

"  No  ?  "     He  was  very  eccentric,  she  concluded. 

The  daintily  gloved  fingers  again  touched  one  of 
the  handles  of  the  machine.  He  lifted  his  hat  and 


"  LAVENDRE  AMBREE  "  31 

tall,  graceful,  he  stood  smiling  at  her.  His  ex- 
pression was  very  impersonal;  the  look  of  one 
pleased  by  the  contemplation  of  something  charm- 
ing. So  a  connoisseur  might  regard  an  imperish- 
able work  of  art,  that  held  enshrined  a  spark  from 
the  illusive  flame  of  the  beautiful. 

She  bowed  at  that  moment  to  some  one  passing 
on  a  horse,  a  well-put-up,  stalwart  man  of  about 
thirty-five,  with  blond  hair  and  sleepy-looking  eyes. 
The  young  fellow's  glance  followed  hers;  then 
swung  back. 

"  Isn't  that  — "     He  paused. 

"  Sir  Archibald  Bamford.  An  eastern  traveler 
and  scholar  of  note,"  she  added  perfunctorily. 
"  Au  revoir!" 

The  car  glided  away  as  noiselessly  as  it  had  ap- 
proached. Mr.  Bruce  stood  smiling  after  it. 
Then  he  seemed  to  forget  his  intention  to  exercise, 
and  sank  on  to  a  bench.  People  went  by;  people 
looked  at  him.  His  eyes  studied  the  green  foliage. 
The  squirrels  scampered ;  the  children  played ;  he  did 
not  move.  Not  far  distant  a  fellow  in  shabby  at- 
tire who  had  long  been  watching  him,  threw  himself 
now  on  the  green  and  stretched  himself  luxuriously. 


32  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  This  here  game  is  about  the  best  I've  had  for 
some  time,"  said  the  man  in  shabby  attire  to  him- 
self. "  Dozing  on  the  green !  I'll  have  to  ask  Mr. 
Bolger,  the  chief,  to  label  this  job:  'To  be  con- 
tinued in  our  next ' ! " 

But  the  "  game "  was  so  easy  the  man  fell 
asleep.  He  awoke  with  a  start,  a  guilty  twinge  of 
conscience,  and  looked  quickly  toward  the  bench 
where  he  had  last  seen  Mr.  Bruce.  The  "  shadow  " 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief;  that  gentleman  was  still 
there.  On  his  knee  sat  a  child,  one  of  the  tots  of 
the  park,  and  he  was  talking  to  it.  At  the  moment 
Mr.  Bruce's  face  wore  an  illusive,  innocuous  ex- 
pression, not  unlike  that  of  the  strange  "  deity  of 
the  child "  in  the  heathen  temple  at  Canton.  It 
would  have  puzzled  one  to  say  whether  the  young 
man  was  interested,  amused,  or  only  ironically 
sedulous  over  a  mite  of  a  human  book  whose  pages 
would  record  —  What?  No  doubt  the  usual  com- 
monplace story. 

Mr.  Bruce  at  length  set  this  budding  document 
of  life  gently  down;  bade  it  g6  to  "  nursie  "  (talk- 
ing with  a  policeman)  ;  then  observing  the  day  was 


"  LAVENDRE  AMBREE  "  33 

waning,  the  young  man  got  up  and  stepped  again 
briskly  on  his  way. 

That  evening  he  passed  in  the  seclusion  of  his 
rooms.  They  were  oddly  furnished  from  a  western 
standpoint.  In  one  corner  a  pale  light  sifted  down 
upon  a  beautiful  silver  Kwan-on,  goddess  of  mercy. 
Where  had  Mr.  Bruce  procured  it?  A  museum 
would  have  given  a  large  sum  for  it.  Two  ancient 
Chinese  gold  screens,  with  ever  vernal  foliage  of 
powdered  malachite,  had  been  set  in  one  of  the 
walls.  A  single  vase,  which  had  been  a-making 
when  the  Celestial  Kingdom  was  in  its  infancy,  re- 
posed on  an  unpretentious  stand. 

An  anomalous  note  —  it  might  have  been  so  in- 
tended —  a  single  red  bud,  one  such  as  Marjorie 
Wood  had  worn  that  day  in  her  gown,  stood  out 
on  a  straight  stem  from  the  receptacle.  It  consti- 
tuted a  ringing,  singing  little  bit  of  color.  A  faint 
smile  swept  Mr.  Bruce's  lips  as  he  looked  at  it. 

He  was  not  especially  fond  of  roses,  yet  he  had( 
purchased  this  one  and  set  it  there,  out-of-place,  in 
the  wonderful  old  vase.  For  a  few  moments  he 


34  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

continued  to  regard  it ;  then  started.  His  keen  sense 
detected  another  scent  than  that  of  the  bud.  He 
knew  many  perfumes  and  their  classifications  well; 
had  studied  closely  the  odoriferous  principles  of 
balsams  and  plants,  the  endless  combinations  sold 
under  fancy  names.  Some  one  had  been  in  his 
rooms.  A  lady!  One  who  used  lavendre  ambree 
as  a  scent. 

For  some  time  Mr.  Bruce  sat  thinking.  Then  he 
walked  over  to  the  Kwan-on  and  looked  at  it 
steadily;  the  eyes  seemed  to  change  in  the  shadows, 
to  become  more  mysterious.  A  sudden  gleam  of 
intelligence,  enlightenment  sprang  from  Chatfield 
Bruce's  gaze.  He  sank  down  before  the  lovely 
green  of  the  cypress  and  the  pine,  with  the  im- 
perishable white  plum  blossoms  shining  between,  an 
amused  look  in  his  eyes.  From  consideration  of 
lavendre  ambree,  his  thoughts  led  him,  where?  He 
put  out  his  hand  for  a  book. 

The  Japanese  play!  What  a  peculiar,  whim- 
sical, human  document!  And  what  a  coincidence 
that,  way  back  in  feudal  times,  there  should  have 
been —  Truly  was  there  nothing  new  under  the 
sun !  Bruce  fingered  the  delicate  parchment ;  re- 


"LAVENDRE  AMBREE"  35 

garded    the    beautiful    Japanese    characters.     He, 
play  that  part!     And  commanded  to,  by  her? 

The  lamp  shone  softly  as  he  continued  to  read. 
An  insect  fluttered  near.  He  waved  it  from  de- 
struction; then  reached  toward  the  rose,  drew  it 
closer. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AT   THE   CIRCUS 

f'VT'OU  admitted  some  one  to  my  rooms  during 
JL  my  absence  yesterday,  Stebbins  ?  " 

The  janitor  of  the  Macleroy  apartments  regarded 
the  speaker  in  surprise.  "  No  one,  Mr.  Bruce." 

The  young  man's  gaze  passed  over  the  other. 
Mr.  Stebbins'  honest  physiognomy  withstood  that 
look  unflinchingly.  Bruce  moved  toward  the  door 
opening  upon  the  street. 

"Of  course,  sir,  many  people  go  in  and  out  of 
the  building  in  the  course  of  the  day,"  called  after 
him  the  janitor.  "  And  a  body  can't  always  keep 
track  of  them  all,  what  with  showing  new  parties 
unoccupied  apartments,  and  the  wife  down  sick, 
and  no  one  to  help  me  in  looking  after  the 
place!" 

"  Not  to  mention  the  time  occupied  in  certain 
necessary  little  excursions  to  a  small  German  place 

36 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  37 

around  the  corner,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bruce  with  a 
sympathetic  smile. 

Mr.  Stebbins  smiled,  too.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
say  there's  been  a  thief — " 

"  Shall  we  say  an  intruder?  " 

"  Anything  missing?  " 

"  Nothing  of  importance.  Apparently  only  a 
little  of  my  stationery  gone! " 

"  I'll  mention  the  matter  to  the  police,  sir." 

"  Not  worth  while.  The  person  left  no  clue 
that  would  be  tangible  to  them."  And  Mr.  Bruce 
stepped  out. 

Pausing  before  Madison  Square  Garden  not  long 
thereafter,  an  announcement  of  a  circus  being  given 
inside  attracted  him.  It  was  an  idle  Saturday  after- 
noon; the  hours  promised  to  hang  heavily,  so  he 
went  in.  As  he  was  passing  to  his  place,  a  young 
woman  in  a  box  turned  to  regard  him.  She  had 
bright  golden  hair,  eyes  rather  greenish,  and  figure, 
opulent. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bruce  ?  " 

He  stopped;  looked  down  upon  the  pink  and 
white  features  of  Miss  Flossie  Burke,  niece  of  Mr. 
Samuel  Page.  She  put  out  her  hand. 


38  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  It  is  some  time  since  we  have  met,  Mr.  Bruce," 
she  went  on  lightly. 

"  I  believe  it  is  some  time  since  I  have  had  that 
pleasure." 

"  Pleasure  ?  "  she  laughed,  her  gaze  upon  him. 
"If  it  had  been  such  a  pleasure  it  would  not  have 
been  such  a  long  time." 

His  look  narrowed  in  the  least.  Occasionally  it 
could  be  very  hard  and  cutting,  seeming  to  peer 
through  the  gloss  of  personalities,  feminine  and 
otherwise.  Perhaps  he  remembered  he  had  once 
found  diversion,  a  very  little,  in  going  about  with 
Miss  Flossie.  Perhaps  they  had  flirted,  slightly. 
She  had  not  been  adverse  to  the  pastime,  with  him 
as  with  others.  But  he  had  soon  tired  of  it  and 
found  the  ennui  which  had  suggested  her  as  an 
antidote,  returning.  So  he  had  quietly  dropped 
out  of  the  train  of  her  admirers. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  to  see  you  here  ?  "  she 
now  went  on,  with  flattering  glance,  as  if  she  had 
never  had  cause  to  feel  piqued  with  him. 

"  Rather  surprised  myself ! "  he  answered,  his 
look  swerving  toward  her  friends. 

A, merry  party  for  the  day,  they  were  not  quite, 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  39 

however,  of  the  set  Miss  Flossie  had  once  mingled 
with ;  she  had  rather  "  dropped  out,"  the  last  year 
or  so.  Lack  of  clothes,  said  cynical  rumor.  Uncle 
Samuel  Page  was  too  "  near  "  to  "  dress  up  "  his 
impecunious  niece,  who  had  come  to  live  with  them, 
to  the  high  Paris  standard.  Party  gowns  at  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  or  so  each,  had,  repeated 
the  gossips,  become  out  of  the  question  for  her.  A 
ten  dollar  hat  Mr.  Page  regarded  as  more  than 
adequately  decorative  for  any  young  woman; 
especially  since  he  had  sustained  monetary  losses! 
It  was  even  rumored  Miss  Flossie  had  threatened 
to  join  the  innumerable  band  of  her  sister  toilers  and 
take  to  millinery  out  of  revenge.  She  had  already 
embarked  in  sundry  enterprises;  tried  china-paint- 
ing, book-binding  and  decorating,  and,  it  was  whis- 
pered, had  done  her  turn  at  surreptitious  and  dis- 
tinctly enterprising  reporting  for  the  social  pages 
of  one  of  the  very  sensational  New  York  news- 
papers. 

"  Must  have  been  the  allurement  of  the  posters 
at  the  door  brought  me  in,"  went  on  Mr.  Bruce, 
regarding  with  rather  critical  eyes  his  whilom 
friend.  As  he  spoke,  he  bent  slightly  over  her; 


40  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

inhaled  softly,  once  or  twice.  Her  gaze  suddenly 
lifted;  her  form  with  its  rich  lines,  more  sugges- 
tive of  Titian  than  Botticelli,  stirred. 

"  Lavendre  ambree! "  he  laughed.  "  You  are 
still  partial  to  it" 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  not  very  expensive." 
And  then  — "  Odd  you  should  remember  it !  "  she 
added  hastily. 

Her  glance  fell,  lingered  an  instant  on  one  of  his 
hands  on  the  back  of  a  chair  —  or  on  a  massive  gold 
ring  he  wore;  odd,  oriental  in  design. 

Bruce  answered  carelessly.  His  look  in  the  least 
questioning,  met  hers  that  lifted,  a  peculiar  gleam 
now  in  the  greenish  depths;  then  with  a  conven- 
tional word  abruptly  he  turned. 

Miss  Flossie  looked  after  him;  her  lips  were 
compressed.  Some  one  spoke  to  her;  she  did  not 
hear. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  auditorium,  an  usher 
guided  Mr.  Bruce  to  an  orchestra  place.  In  front 
of  him  a  long  row  of  seats  was  occupied  by  chil- 
dren in  holiday  attire.  They  buzzed  like  busy  bees. 
Several  ladies  seemed  to  have  charge  of  them; 
one  of  the  former  in  the  immediate  proximity  of 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  41 

the  young  man  spoke  to  him.  He  answered,  not 
quite  certain,  at  first,  whether  she  was  Mrs.  Wol- 
cott,  president  of  one  of  the  chanty  boards  —  he 
couldn't  remember  which  one  —  or  Miss  Tucker, 
its  secretary. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Bruce,"  said  the  lady.  It  was  Miss 
Tucker,  he  remembered  now.  "  Here  they  all 
are!" 

"  They?  "  he  repeated. 

"  The  little  tots  from  the  settlement  to  whom 
you  were  good  enough  to  send  tickets  for  the 
circus." 

"  Oh,  did  I?  "  said  Bruce  absently.  "  Rum  little 
beggars,  aren't  they !  "  languidly. 

Another  lady  near  by,  a  friend  of  Miss  Tucker, 
and  herself  secretary  of  the  influential  board  of 
another  charity,  now  broke  into  the  conversation: 

"  Mr.  Bruce !  The  very  person  I  wanted  to  see ! 
Good  news ! " 

He  looked  at  her;  placed  her  also.  She  was 
beaming  with  satisfaction. 

"  We  have  raised  the  necessary  amount." 

He  betrayed  no  enthusiasm. 

"  You  remember,  Mr.  Bruce,  you  pledged  seventy- 


42  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

five  thousand  dollars  toward  our  new  buildings,  pro- 
vided we  could  raise  a  like  sum.  I  —  we  have 
realized  that  happy  contingency." 

"  And  the  time  clause  to  my  offer  ?  "  The  young 
man  spoke  slowly. 

"  Does  not  expire  until  next  week.  We  can  de- 
pend upon  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course."  Mr.  Bruce  did  not  remain  long. 
Perhaps  he  found  the  anomalous  antics  of  the  ele- 
phants tiresome,  for  he  soon  got  uj>  and  went  out. 
He  seemed  a  little  absent-minded. 

Seventy-five  thousand  dollars !  That  was  a  good 
deal  of  money  to  raise  in  a  few  days.  Of  course 
he  could  not  repudiate  a  promise.  Did  he  regret 
for  the  moment  his  own  generosity?  The  charity 
was  an  excellent  one,  no  doubt  — 

But  seventy-five  thousand  dollars?  Why  did  he 
hesitate?  He  had  not  hesitated  in  the  past  when 
called  upon.  He  experienced  an  unusual  restless- 
ness. Whither  should  he  wend  his  way  now? 

To  his  friend,  Ting  Lee's?  Ting,  the  philoso- 
pher! He,  Bruce,  wanted  to,  must  consider  a  mat- 
ter of  moment;  the  little  shop  offered  an  excellent 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  43 

place  for  quiet  and  meditation.     But  it  would  be 
best  to  wait  until  dark  before  going  there. 
"  Seventy-five  thousand  dollars !  " 

Does  gaiety  ever  really  reign  along  the  "  Great 
White  Way "  ?  Sometimes  it  seems  to.  It  bore 
the  semblance  this  night  as  on  other  nights.  Mil- 
lionaire phantoms  mingled  with  beggar  phantoms. 
Self-satisfied  ghosts  rubbed  elbows  with  less  con- 
tented wraiths.  The  theaters  belched  forth  ephem- 
eral hosts ;  the  restaurants  swallowed  many  of  them ; 
others  vanished  somewhere.  Mr.  Bruce  smiled 
slightly;  these  abstract  fancies  occurred  to  him  at 
times. 

They  mingled  with  practical  considerations;  the 
abrupt  need  of  eliminating  the  possible  effect  of 
another's  star,  momentarily  in  juxtaposition  with 
his  own,  and  evincing  strong  symptoms  of  being 
influenced  by  some  law  of  specific  gravity  or  mutual 
attraction.  The  elusive  taxicab,  a  Teutonic  restau- 
rant with  two  entrances  and  the  subway  combined 
to  assist  to  the  consummation  wished  for.  The 
superfluous  influence,  a  masculine  skulker  from  offi- 


44  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

cialdom,  a  police  spy,  was  lost  in  the  unknown. 
Mr.  Bruce  was  alone  shortly  after  he  had  ascended 
from  the  subterranean  tube ;  he  had  dispensed  with 
this  fidus  Achates  of  the  "  force,"  who  showed  a  pre- 
dilection to  cling  closer  than  a  brother.  The  stars, 
burnished  to  their  brightest  now,  called  his  solitary 
attention  to  the  heavens'  great  white  way. 

It  is  a  long  stretch  from  Rector's  to  Ting  Lee's ; 
from  the  place  of  pandemonium  to  the  palace  of 
tranquillity.  Once  in  the  latter  abode,  the  metrop- 
olis and  its  fevered  activities  faded  from  the  young 
man's  mind. 

Ting  knew  his  occasional  caller's  mood.  When 
the  latter  had  seated  himself,  the  other  did  not  dis- 
turb him;  nor  did  Mrs.  Ting.  She  moved  as  se- 
rene in  her  own  household  as  the  mists  across  the 
heavens;  one  was  dreamily  aware  of,  without  re- 
senting her  presence.  Bruce  sipped  his  tea ;  a  beau- 
tiful piece  of  milk-white  jade,  suspended  by  a  scarlet 
thread,  stirred  in  the  air. 

"  Good  pearls,  Ting!  "  The  young  man,  looking 
at  a  case  near  by,  observed.  "  Where  from?  " 

"  The  branch  of  the  Hwang-ho,  near  the  sea  of 
stars,"  answered  in  dialect,  the  host. 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  45 

"You  planted  them?" 

"  Yes ;  Ting's  garden." 

"  And  the  matrices  ?  " 

"  Take  out ;  fill  with  white  wax.     No  see  ?  " 

Bruce  looked  down;  his  lip  curved;  perhaps  he 
recalled  a  questionable  traffic  of  the  unsophisticated 
children  of  the  plains.  But  any  expression  on  his 
face  passed  as  a  breath  from  glass. 

"  Alice  same  weight  other  pearls,"  said  Ting 
softly. 

"But  the  skin?" 

"  Alice  same." 

The  caller  was  silent.  Ting  waited  patiently. 
Why  not?  He  had  a  son  who  would  finish  any 
business  left  undone.  Mrs.  Ting  sank  placidly 
down  somewhere;  shimmered  to  rest.  Bruce  con- 
tinued to  surround  the  citadel  of  his  purpose  —  if 
he  had  a  definite  one  —  with  that  multiple  circum- 
locution his  host  could  understand  and  appreciate. 
The  young  man  observed  formalities;  lapsed  into 
Chinese  and  began: 

"  Ting,  there  is  a  favor  I  am  here  to  ask.  I  want 
you  to  procure  for  me — " 

"  S-sh !  "     The  soft  sound  from  Mrs.  Ting's  lips 


46  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

was  like  the  whirring  of  the  night  beetle's  wings. 
It  was  followed  by;  ruder  noises;  voices,  laughter 
without. 

Those  within  looked  at  one  another ;  understood ; 
a  party  was  "  doing  Chinatown  ".  The  young  man 
stepped  quickly  into  a  back  room.  Almost  imme- 
diately afterward  a  gay  gathering  of  both  sexes 
under  the  chaperonage  of  a  loud-voiced  guide,  in- 
vaded with  no  ceremony  Ting's  place. 

They  did  not,  for  the  most  part,  linger  long,  how- 
ever. Here  was  not  much  suggestive  of  mystery, 
or  novelty;  only  an  orderly  little  shop  and  an  or- 
derly little  shopkeeper  and  his  wife. 

"  Really,  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  we  have  a  right 
to  '  break  in '  quite  like  this,"  a  girl's  voice  said. 

"  One  doesn't  '  break  into '  an  Oriental's  house, 
Miss  Wood,"  a  man's  buoyant  voice  returned. 
The  speaker  was  large,  florid-looking,  handsome. 
His  tones  betrayed  amusement.  "  One  just  en- 
ters; if  he  objects,  one  ejects  him,  and  takes  pos- 
session." 

She  answered;  Bruce  could  not  hear  what. 
"  Sir  Archibald  Bam  ford  is  quite  right,  Miss 
Wood,"  said  a  man's  softer  voice.  "  Sir  Archi- 


AT  THE  CIRCUS  47 

bald  has  had  a  large  experience  in  the  Far  East  and 
knows." 

"  Oh,  you,  Senor  Caglioni,  are  his  secretary  and 
have  to  say  that,"  gaily. 

"  Really,  Miss  Wood,  you  are  wrong."  The 
voice  was  again  Sir  Archibald's.  "  The  only  way 
we  English  ever  get  on  with  the  beggars  is  to 
make  them  fear  us." 

"  Do  you  *  get  on '  ?  "  she  laughed.  "  From 
newspaper  accounts,  I  should  say  you  are  always 
'  getting  out '  with  them." 

She  and  nearly  all  of  the  others  left.  The  florid 
Englishman  and  his  secretary  lingered.  The  for- 
mer's face  was  cold,  commanding;  the  latter's  eyes, 
like  Ting's,  seemed  to  veil  strange  shadows; 
peeped  like  shiny,  soulless  black  beads  out  of  a 
face,  almost,  not  quite,  European.  Sir  Archibald 
Bamford  spoke  in  the  Pidgin-English  of  Shanghai 
where  the  dialect  is  elaborate. 

"  Where  does  that  door  lead  ?  What's  behind  ? 
There's  always  something  behind.  Pipes,  eh  ?  " 

"  No  pipes ;  nothing,"  said  Ting. 

"  That  means  something,  of  course." 

"  No  go  in,"  put  in  the  owner. 


48  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Too  anxious  by  half!  "  And  laughing  roughly 
the  honorable  gentleman  brushed  Ting  and  Mrs. 
Ting  unceremoniously  away  with  his  big  elbows. 
Then  walking  to  a  door,  he  looked  in.  The  room 
was  vacant;  only  the  curtain  of  a  low  window 
waved  suggestively. 

"  There's  been  no  opium  here,"  said  the  secretary 
in  a  subdued  tone,  sniffing.  "  And  —  you  will  miss 
the  others." 

"That  wouldn't  do,"  laughed  Sir  Archibald. 
"  At  least  to  miss  one  of  them !  "  he  added  and  went 
out. 

Ting  looked  down;  neither  he  nor  his  wife  spoke, 
but  in  their  eyes  was  a  new,  strange  light.  Between 
them,  the  wonderful  milky  jade  wound  and  un- 
wound on  its  scarlet  thread. 


MR.  SAMUEL  PAGE  sat  in  his  office  in  the 
sky.  In  the  old  days  Mr.  Page  had  been  a 
dusty  mole  with  a  nook  in  a  basement;  but  times 
change,  and  in  the  process  of  evolution,  the  mole 
and  the  rodents  alike  take  wings.  Mr.  Page's  office, 
in  dimensions  suggested  a  big  nest ;  not  a  particularly 
tidy  one.  He  peered  down  upon  the  city  like  a 
bird  looking  for  titbits;  he  usually  sat  near  the 
window-sill. 

He  occupied  that  favorite  place  now.  A  stocky, 
commonplace  man,  with  nondescript  eyes,  was 
seated  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bolger,  what  I'd  like  to  know  is, 
are  you  going  to  get  the  bonds  ?  " 

"  I  expect  to." 

"Expect?"  Mr.  Page's  tone  was  not  exactly 
agreeable. 

A   resentful  light   shone   for  an  instant   in  the 
49 


50  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

other's  glance,  but  he  was  accustomed  to  unreason- 
able patrons  and  answered  now  steadily :  "  The 
case  isn't  an  easy  one.  There  has  been  only  one  real 
clue  to  go  by:  the  fact  that  in  the  safety  deposit 
vault  a  record  is  kept  of  every  one  going  in  or  out, 
and  the  time  put  down." 

Mr.  Page  did  not  reply  immediately;  he  was  not 
in  the  best  of  humors.  Bolger  apparently  had 
"  nothing  definite  "  to  offer  him ;  the  old  story ! 
The  impatient  capitalist  felt  prone  to  speak  his 
mind,  but  refrained;  perhaps  he  gaged  his  man. 
Mr.  Bolger  had  a  certain  professional  independence; 
having  done  his  best,  he  refused  to  be  criticized. 
He  had,  too,  a  number  of  successful  coups  to  his 
credit.  He  had  brought  the  powerful  Macduffie 
crowd  of  wire-tappers  to  justice;  had  enabled  the 
police  to  convict  the  celebrated  Major  B.  E.  F. 
Harold  de  Mohnville,  Bond  Street  diamond  swin- 
dler, and  had  landed  in  a  prison  cell  one  Augus- 
tus —  Gus,  for  short  — Young,  equally  noted  express 
robber. 

Mr.  Page  by  an  effort  now  managed  to  suppress 
the  irritation  he  experienced  over  the  tardy  progress 
of  his  own  case.  "Well,  you  looked  up  all  the 


AN  EPISODE  51 

people  who  were  at  the  vault  at  the  same  time  as 
myself?" 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  investigated  their  habits,  their 
haunts,  if  they  had  any.  Was  there  a  clique;  any 
connection  between  them?  I  could  discover  none. 
Nearly  all  belonged  to  separate  and  distinct  walks 
in  life.  One,"  thoughtfully,  "moved  in  the  smart 
circles,  where  most  of  the  affairs  occurred.  Was  at 
the  reception  at  Morrow's  —  remember  him,  head 
of  the  Venezuelan  asphalt  deal,  some  called  it  a 
swindle?  When  his  wife's  emeralds  were  taken, 
Morrow  called  me  in  but  the  only  clue  in  that  case 
was  a  certificate  of  asphalt  stock,  value  nil,  left 
where  the  jewels  had  been." 

"  The  man  that  took  my  bonds  left  a  bit  of  gib- 
berish drawing." 

"  You  have  that  drawing,  still  ?  " 

Mr.  Page  shifted.  "Thought  I  had,"  he  said 
testily.  "  Locked  it  in  a  desk  drawer  at  home,  but 
it's  gone." 

"  Gone  ?     You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  There  isn't  any  one  can  tell  better  when  he's 
lost  anything,  than  I  can,"  was  the  irritated  re- 
tort. 


52  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  But  who  would  take  it  in  your  own  house? 
What  object  would  any  one  have?" 
I     "That's  it!"     Mr.  Page  made  a  gesture.     "I 
have  questioned  everybody  and  no  one  knows  any- 
thing about  it." 

The  detective  considered.  Mr.  Page  was  ad- 
vanced in  years;  his  eyesight  was  poor,  and  in 
cleaning  out  the  drawers  of  his  desk  the  bit  of 
crude  draftsmanship  might  have  gone  the  way  of 
all  rubbish.  A  simple  explanation  was  probably  the 
most  reasonable.  He  saw  that  the  old  gentleman, 
.who  had  obstinately  insisted  upon  keeping  the  paper, 
was  chagrined  by  the  incident,  and  changed  the 
subject.  "  Do  you  happen  to  know  Sir  Archibald 
Bamford,  Mr.  Page?" 

"  I  know  of  him,"  was  the  somewhat  surprised 
reply. 

Bolger  answered  the  unspoken  question  on  the 
other's  lips.  "  He  is  among  those  who  chanced  to 
be  at  the  vault  on  one  occasion  when  you  were 
there.  He  took  a  box  shortly  after  his  arrival  in 
this  country  and  not  long  before  the  disappearance 
of  your  bonds." 


AN  EPISODE  53 

"Others  took  boxes  about  the  same  time,  I  pre- 
sume? " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Some  of  whom  were  there  afterward  when  I 
was?" 

"  Quite  true.     Please  do  not  infer  — " 

Mr.  Page  coughed  dryly.  "  Sir  Archibald  has 
wealth  and  large  estates  in  England;  has  repre- 
sented his  government  in  the  Far  East  in  some  con- 
fidential capacity,  and — " 

Bolger  waved  his  hand.  "  His  name  came  up 
only  incidentally.  There's  no  doubt  of  his  prom- 
inence. But,"  rising  quickly,  "  this  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  What  is  more  to  the  point  is,  I  am 
leaving  town  for  a  short  time  and  you  may  not 
hear  from  me  for  a  few  days." 

"  You  are  going  in  connection  with  this  business 
of  mine?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"Where?" 

"  That,  I  prefer  not  to  say." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him ;  after  all,  Bolger  was 
considered  most  capable.  "  I  believe  you  know 


54  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

more  than  you  claim  to  about  those  bonds  of  mine," 
said  Mr.  Page  eagerly;  "  that  you're  on  the  track?  " 
But  the  detective  was  not  to  be  lured  from  his 
manner;  that  professional  bearing,  impregnable, 
mysterious,  the  other  had  come  to  detest,  would 
not  be  lightly  discarded.  "  I  may  have  an  idea," 
answered  Mr.  Bolger,  "  but  ideas,"  modestly, 
"  aren't  what  you  want." 

On  that  same  day  about  the  same  time  Mr.  Bolger 
was  departing  for  somewhere,  on  business  known 
only  to  himself,  Chatfield  Bruce,  on  pleasure  bent, 
arrived  at  the  picturesque  little  village  of  Com- 
scot.  The  trip  had  been  a  hot  and  dusty  one,  but 
the  young  man,  unlike  some  of  his  fellow  travelers, 
appeared  neither  sooty  nor  ill-humored.  A  sum- 
mer pongee  suit,  as  immaculate  as  when  the  silk 
had  left  the  looms  at  Chefoo,  fitted  perfectly  the 
lithe  figure;  his  shirt  was  very  fine  and  cool;  he 
carried  his  light  straw  hat  in  his  hand.  Although 
of  a  frugal  disposition,  he  more  than  liberally  tipped 
a  stout  lad  for  looking  after  his  small  baggage. 
Then,  while  others,  in  a  fine  perspiration,  waited  in 
the  closed  omnibus  or  dilapidated  hacks,  to  be  taken 


AN  EPISODE  55 

to  their  destinations,  he  started  to  walk  across  the 
village  to  the  road  up  the  hill. 

The  day  was  pleasant,  though  sultry;  the  shady 
paths  enjoyable.  On  either  hand  queer  little  stores 
and  houses  offered  a  homely  and  agreeable  change 
from  the  monotonous  sky-scrapers  or  Fifth  Avenue 
palaces.  And  if  the  casual  stranger  did  not  find 
a  wealth  of  poetry  about  old-fashioned  American 
clapboards,  there  were  glimpses  of  the  sea  through 
green  interspaces,  to  appeal  to  the  imagination  and 
gratify  the  visual  longings. 

These  latter  effects,  to  Chatfield  Bruce,  appeared 
essentially  worthy  of  contemplation.  Close  at  hand, 
the  intrusive  large-small  object,  the  twig  of  a  vine, 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  seemed  to  insist  on  the  im- 
portance of  little  things  in  nature's  larger  panorama. 
A  rose  danced  against  the  illimitable;  a  fly  on  a 
leaf  was  outlined  upon  the  infinite.  He  paused, 
then  moved  slightly ;  the  picture  changed.  A  white 
pleasure  yacht  suddenly  became  apparent  on  the 
blue  sea,  twined  around  before  him  with  honey- 
suckle buds.  The  boat  appeared  very  pretty  in  that 
irregular  frame  of  bright,  waving  flowers;  an  im- 
posing pleasure-craft,  no  doubt,  at  closer  range. 


56  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Bruce  tried  to  decipher  the  name.  He  could  make 
out  an  "  M,"  but  no  more. 

Minnie ;  Mary ;  Molly ;  it  might  be  any  of  these ; 
or  Marjorie!  Why  Marjorie?  An  odd  name; 
what  had  made  him  think  of  it?  Some  one  he 
knew,  or  had  met  —  ? 

The  chug!  chug!  of  a  heavy  motor-car  laboring 
upward  caused  him  to  turn,  to  see  a  girl's  figure, 
the  film  of  a  veil,  black  hair  athwart  a  white  brow 
and  blue  eyes  —  a  face  distinct,  yet  intangible,  with 
dust  around  it  like  mist,  red  lips  shining  through, 
as  a  flower  afar  in  some  shadowy  screen.  Bruce 
stepped  back  slightly  —  the  road  was  narrow.  A 
man's  form  screened  hers  from  his;  Sir  Archibald, 
big  and  florid,  sat  at  her  right  on  the  front  seat. 
An  instant  Bruce  heard,  amid  those  explosive,  per- 
sistent, mechanical  sounds,  vague  protestations  in  a 
masculine  voice  concerning  American  roads,  then  a 
girl's  light  laugh ;  then  he,  she,  vanished  from  view. 

Bruce  gazed  after  them  while  the  cloud  of  dust 
slowly  settled.  For  a  time  he  seemed  to  forget  him- 
self at  the  wayside.  Then  once  more  he  walked 
on;  at  first  slowly,  then  more  quickly.  The  road 
became  steeper.  On  one  side  the  hill  descended 


AN  EPISODE  57 

with  considerable  abruptness ;  on  the  other,  the  bank 
had  been  cut  into  for  the  thoroughfare,  leaving  a 
perpendicular  wall  of  earth  about  six  feet  high. 
Beyond  this,  a  tangle  of  green  wood  that  had  been 
allowed  by  the  owner  to  run  wild  was  further 
guarded  by  a  thick  hedge. 

From  somewhere  in  the  distance  amid  this  large 
estate,  the  young  man  fancied  he  had  heard  once 
or  twice  the  report  of  a  firearm  —  the  proprietor  or 
his  friends  after  rabbits,  perhaps.  He  had  turned 
his  head,  on  his  face  the  sudden,  alert  expression 
of  one  not  unaccustomed  to  danger,  when  the  sound 
of  a  weapon  was  heard  from  the  thicket,  near  at 
hand.  Instinctively  Bruce  moved;  as  he  did  so,  a 
bit  of  lead  grazed  his  hat. 

Quick  as  a  flash  he  sprang  toward  the  hedge, 
but  the  sandy  earth  gave  way  before  him;  his 
hands  seemed  to  touch  only  thorns.  At  the  same 
time  he  heard  a  branch  break  as  before  retreating 
footsteps.  Realizing  the  fruitlessness  of  pursuit, 
he  stood  motionless  and  listened.  Only  silence! 

No;  the  death-like  hush  was  broken  by  a  bird's 
song.  The  young  man  wheeled  and  dusted  his 
clothes.  Fortunately  the  sandy  soil  left  no  marks 


58  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

he  could  not  remove.  He  regarded  his  hat;  it  was 
chipped.  Rather  ruefully  he  smoothed  the  straw 
with  his  finger;  fortunately,  the  injury  was  not 
irreparable.  He  moved  the  ribbon  slightly  to  cover 
it;  one  does  not  like  to  buy  two  new  straw  hats 
a  season. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    HOAX? 

THE  Goldberg  country  mansion,  built  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  commanded  a  felicitous  pros- 
pect. On  three  sides  were  to  be  seen  other  houses 
on  rather  lower  hills.  Below  nestled  the  town;  be- 
yond shone  the  waters  of  the  sea.  By  day  the 
waves  gleamed  like  diamonds,  twinkling  unceasingly 
at  Comscot's  latest  landed  proprietor,  as  he  gazed 
contentedly  down  from  his  spacious  and  lofty  bal- 
cony. 

"  Very  fine,  eh,  Bruce  ?  "  said  Mr.  Goldberg  to 
his  employee.  The  latter  had  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore arrived  and  was  being  guided  over  the  place 
by  the  other.  "  That  view  of  the  bay  alone  is 
worth  the  price.  No  better  outlook  anywhere! 
Needn't  be  bothered  with  one's  neighbors  here; 
they're  far  enough  away." 

"Who  are  they?" 

The  host  mentioned  several  names;  then  point- 
59 


6o  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

ing  with  his  finger  to  the  left  — "  Mr.  Wood's  place. 
Good  house,  but  he  can  hardly  see  the  water  from 
where  he  is." 

"  Mr.  Wood  spends  the  summer,  here,  then  ?  " 
Bruce  remarked  carelessly. 

"  When  he  and  his  daughter  are  not  on  the  other 
side  of  the  pond!" 

Mr.  Bruce  continued  to  look  in  that  direction. 
"The  grounds  appear  extensive;  plenty  of  forest 
reserves,  the  real  primeval  sort.  Passed  them  on 
my  way  up,"  he  added,  running  a  long  white  finger, 
slightly  scratched,  around  the  band  of  his  hat. 

"If  it  were  my  place,  I'd  clean  up  a  bit;  have 
cinder  paths  and  a  road  for  automobiles.  That 
little  place  to  the  right,  farther  down,"  again  in- 
dicating with  a  gesture,  "  belongs  to  Colonel  Man- 
yan,  an  old  arm/  officer.  The  dilapidated,  rambling 
shack  you  can  just  see  through  the  trees  over  there 
is  the  property  of  Mr.  Samuel  Page.  He  got  the 
place  on  a  mortgage  for  almost  nothing;  squeezed 
a  widow,  client  of  his,"  with  a  wink.  "  Pet  game 
of  the  old  fellow;  makes  a  business  of  being  pro- 
fessional trustee.  Pretty  small  graft !  "  contempts 
ously. 


A  HOAX?  61 

"  There  are  certainly  less  reprehensible  forms  of 
grafting."  Some  thought,  as  Mr.  Brace's  glance 
passed  over  the  grounds  of  his  employer's  estate, 
caused  the  young  man  to  smile.  Was  it  at  Mr. 
Goldberg's  assumption  of  virtue;  that  "holier  than 
thou "  pose  he  involuntarily  assumed  on  certain 
occasions  ? 

"  Heard  he  had  rented  it,"  went  on  the  elder 
man ;  "  but  am  not  sure.  Sorry  for  the  man  he 
does  business  with.  The  old  skinflint's  got  a  nice 
niece,  though,"  he  added.  "  Miss  Flossie  Burke. 
She  and  my  daughter  have  struck  up  quite  a  friend- 
ship lately.  She's  going  to  be  one  of  our  guests 
here." 

"Here?"  quickly. 

"  Yes ;  glad  you  got  around  early,  Bruce ;  you 
can  help  *  make  things  go.'  There'll  be  a  lot  of 
people;  special  car  from  the  city,  and  what  with 
the  neighbors  " —  Bruce  regarded  him  with  sudden 
inquiry.  "  Sir  Archibald  Bamford  is  going  to  be 
here,"  he  added. 

If  Mr.  Bruce  experienced  surprise,  he  did  not 
show  it;  his  features,  perhaps,  appeared  a  trifle 
more  immovable.  The  other,  then,  had  met  —  knew 


62  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Sir  Archibald!  Through  what  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances ? 

"  Sir  Archibald,  passing  here  the  first  time  with 
Mr.  Wood  and  party  in  their  motor,  seemed  struck 
with  the  house,  and  asked  to  stop.  As  they  were 
admiring  it,  I  happened  along,  and  Mr.  Wood  — 
we're  both  on  the  Metropolitan  New  Process  Gas 
Board  —  introduced  me.  I  invited  Sir  Archibald 
in  to  inspect  the  interior,  and  he  accepted.  We 
became  quite  friendly." 

Bruce  was  looking  out  over  the  bay;  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  They  told  me  they  knew  you — "  The  young  man 
lifted  his  eyes.  "  That  is,  Miss  Wood  did,  after 
asking  if  I  wasn't  the  Mr.  Goldberg  she  had  heard 
Mr.  Bruce  mention?  She  had  evidently  been  talking 
about  you  to  Sir  Archibald.  You  must  know  her 
well  ?  "  with  interest.  To  know  at  all,  Miss  Mar- 
jorie  Wood,  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  ex- 
clusive old  circles,  was,  from  Mr.  Goldberg's  point 
of  view,  an  achievement  for  any  young  man  and 
stamped  him  with  a  big  hall-mark  of  social  elegi- 
bility. 

Bruce's  firm  lips  smiled  faintly.     "  I  can  scarcely 


A  HOAX?  63 

claim  that  honor;  I  have  met  Miss  Wood  but  once 
or  twice." 

Mr.  Goldberg  returned  unctuously  to  Sir  Archi- 
bald. "  Told  him  about  the  little  doings  we  were 
going  to  have  to-day,  and  — '  Of  course,  you  are 
intending  to  ask  all  the  neighbors  ? '  he  laughed. 
Which,  I  took  it,  was  a  way  of  including  himself. 
So  I  sent  invitations  to  Sir  Archibald,  his  secretary, 
Seiior  Caglioni,  and  the  Woods,"  concluded  the 
speaker,  "  and  they  are  coming." 

The  young  man  said  nothing;  he  seemed  almost 
absent-minded.  The  elder  noted  that  lack  of  en- 
thusiasm —  perhaps  was  a  little  annoyed  by  it.  But 
then,  he  remembered  Bruce  had  the  entree  of  places 
where  lords  and  sirs  were  not  unknown  quan- 
tities; where,  indeed,  they  congregated  rather 
plentifully  at  times.  So  Mr.  Goldberg  strove  him- 
self to  assume  an  indifferent  air.  "  Democratic 
sort  of  chap,  Sir  Archibald,"  he  observed,  "  in  spite 
of  his  formal  manner." 

Mr.  Bruce's  comment,  if  he  had  seen  fit  to  make 
one,  was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of  a  work- 
man who  had  come  from  the  house,  in  his  hand  a 
bag  filled  presumably  with  tools. 


64  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Think  you'll  find  the  job  all  right  now,  Mr. 
Goldberg,"  he  remarked  cheerfully,  and,  upon  that 
person's  curtly  observing  "  it  was  quite  time,"  re- 
torted something  about  its  not  being  his  fault ;  that 
one  or  two  delicate  pieces  of  mechanism,  for  the 
locks,  taking  time  to  make,  had  not  come  until  the 
last  minute.  Which  excuses  being  silently  re- 
ceived, the  man  walked  a  little  uncertainly  down 
the  steps,  and,  shouldering  his  bag  below,  passed 
out  of  the  premises. 

"Confounded  safe  people!"  As  Mr.  Goldberg 
spoke,  he  involuntarily  raised  his  hand  to  some- 
thing slightly  bulging  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his 
carefully  buttoned  coat.  "  Did  you  smell  the  fel- 
low's breath?  Whisky!  That's  what  caused  the 
hitch.  The  idea  of  not  finishing  their  work  un- 
til noon  to-day ! " 

Bruce's  glance  had  caught  the  movement.  "  You 
have  concluded,  then,  to  let  your  daughter  wear  the 
pearls,  Mr.  Goldberg?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  having  pearls,  if  you  don't 
let  people  see  them?  Which  reminds  me,"  joc- 
ularly feeling  in  his  pocket,  "here's  a  letter  came 
to-day." 


A  HOAX?  65 

The  young  man  took  it.  The  scrawl  was  rudely 
written;  he  read: 

"  The  same  party,  or  parties,  who  got  the  Page 
bonds,  the  Morrow  emeralds  and  a  few  other  trifles, 
accept  with  pleasure  the  kind  invitation  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Goldberg  to  attend  the  garden  party  and 
housewarming  at  Comscot." 

Bruce  laughed.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"  A  hoax.  One  of  my  friends  who's  been  see- 
ing that  French  Raffles  —  what's  his  name  ?  — 
Lupin,  at  the  theater,  is  having  a  little  fun  with 
me.  You  have  no  idea  what  jokers  those  '  scat ' 
and  *  peenuckle '  fellows  of  my  club  are.  Or," 
shrewdly,  "  it  may  have  been  sent  by  one  of  those 
women  folks  who  are  envious  of  the  pearls  and 
thinks  it  might  scare  my  daughter  into  not  wear- 
ing them.  In  any  case,  I've  had  one  of  the  best 
private  strong-boxes  in  the  country  fitted  up  here. 
And  what's  more,  only  the  architect  and  the  safe 
people  and  myself  know  where  it  is.  But  amuse 
yourself  any  way  you  want  while  I  look  after  these 
electric  light  chaps,"  with  a  glance  at  ssveral  men 


66  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

stringing  bulbs  in  the  garden.  "  You're  to  have 
a  room  here,  you  know." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Bruce,  "  I've  engaged 
one  at  the  inn.  You'll  be  pretty  well  crowded  here, 
and,  as  I  told  you,  I  prefer  it  down  in  the  town. 
More  independent,  you  see." 

The  other,  likewise  accustomed  to  plain  speaking, 
answered  Bruce  could  suit  himself,  and  walked 
away.  Left  alone,  the  young  man  stepped  into  a 
billiard-room  that  opened  upon  the  balcony.  For 
a  few  moments  he  touched  the  balls  idly,  his  stroke 
singularly  firm  and  caressing;  then  set  himself  a 
most  difficult  test.  The  balls  scampered  around 
the  table  wildly,  came  together  gently,  and  finally 
nestled  almost  touching.  An  instant  he  regarded 
them,  as  if  well-satisfied  with  the  accuracy  of  his 
eye,  the  sureness  of  his  nerves,  then  leaned  on  his 
cue. 

His  shapely,  yet  muscular  fingers,  showing 
slightly  the  scratches  from  his  vain  endeavor  to 
break  through  the  hedge  back  of  Mr.  Wood's  place, 
held  briefly  his  attention.  He  regarded  the  marks 
with  an  intentness  that  told  he  was  thinking  deeply. 


A  HOAX?  67 

At  the  same  time  his  expression  seemed  one  of 
alertness,  that  of  some  woodland  creature  intent 
upon  an  unexpected  sound,  or  interruption,  real 
or  fancied,  in  his  forest  fastness.  A  faint  inden- 
tation appeared  on  his  brow ;  he  looked  out  through 
the  screened  door,  to  where,  afar,  a  dark  fringe 
marked  the  outline  of  the  forest  on  the  green  hill- 
side. 

Some  one  passed  on  the  lawn  below,  a  person 
with  a  dark  face;  viewed  profile-wise,  it  might 
have  seemed  the  set,  bronze  countenance  of  an 
American  Indian.  From  Brace's  point  of  view, 
the  slant  eyes  were  hardly  discernible.  This  person, 
like  the  workman  who  had  gone  down  a  short 
time  before,  carried  a  bundle.  He  went  by  like 
a  shadow,  with  characteristic  gliding  motion, 
around  a  corner  of  the  house,  and  a  few  moments 
later,  from  presumably  kitchenward  (the  big 
house  had  a  half-open  summer  kitchen)  came  a 
grudging  voice  that  greeted  this  last-comer. 

It  was  better  late  than  never  —  the  speaker  was 
the  housekeeper,  no  doubt  —  though  things  had 
come  to  a  pretty  pass  when  one  was  glad  to  get 


68  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

even  heathen  for  servants  in  the  country.  There 
were  Irish  gardeners,  an  English  coachman,  Ger- 
man and  Swedish  housemaids,  and  this  latest  ar- 
rival constituted  a  second  Oriental  for  the  kitchen, 
or  to  serve  the  guests.  The  house  might  soon  be 
compared  to  the  tower  of  Babel.  Did  he  know 
how  to  "  wait  on  "  people  ? 

The  answer  was  not  discernible  to  Bruce  y  he 
seemed  in  nowise  amused.  The  tones  died 
away,  silence  ensued.  Apparently  the  belated 
one  had  merged  quietly  into  his  place,  after  the 
deft  way  of  his  kind;  henceforth  there  would 
be  no  ruffling  of  the  surface  on  his  account. 
He  was  now  but  a  cog  that  moved  without  fric- 
tion. 

Bruce  had  started  to  turn  once  more  to  the 
billiard  table  when  from  down  the  road  came  a 
rattling  of  wheels. 

A  vehicle  drew  near,  drove  in  the  grounds  and 
stopped.  It  was  one  of  the  antiquated  "  hacks " 
from  the  station,  but  the  gay  garments  of  her  within 
brightened  it.  She  sprang  out  with  a  fluttering  of 
skirts,  asked  a  question  of  the  driver,  and  ran  hur- 
riedly up  the  steps. 


A  HOAX?  69 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Burke?"  Chatfield 
Bruce  had  stepped  out  through  a  long  French  win- 
dow on  to  the  balcony.  As  he  stood  there,  cue  in 
hand,  his  glance,  for  the  first  few  seconds,  seemed 
to  dart  incisively  upon  her. 

"  Mr.  Bruce !  "  A  faint  flush  came  to  the  creamy 
cheek,  an  instant's  perturbation  to  the  greenish 
eyes.  "  I  didn't  expect  — " 

"  Don't  say  it !  "  he  laughed. 

"  Then  I  won't !  "  She  straightened ;  bit  her  lip 
as  if  momentarily  annoyed,  then  laughed  too.  "Of 
course  I  should  have  expected  you  here,  if  I  had 
given  the  matter  any  thought." 

"Quite  so!"  he  said  easily,  almost  too  easily. 
And  then  — "  Pardon  me !  "  reaching  before  her  to 
touch  the  bell  of  the  front  door. 

"  Thanks !  "  She  suddenly  as  if  by  an  irresisti- 
ble impulse  looked  at  him;  had  he  been  watchful 
now,  he  might  have  seen  in  that  glance  something 
to  ponder  over.  Though  brief,  it  might  have  been 
likened  to  the  casual  light  on  a  gun  that  betrays  to 
the  observant  scout  the  hostile  outpost  in  the  deep 
gloaming.  But  Mr.  Bruce  had  not  seen;  his  man- 
ner had  relaxed,  become  careless,  unmindful. 


70  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

The  front  door  of  the  house  opened;  he  heard 
skipping  girlish  steps  within,  and,  a  moment  later, 
the  sound  of  Miss  Flossie's  ardent  kisses. 


CHAPTER  VII 

INCIDENTS 

/^HATFIELD  BRUCE  had  drawn  a  little  aside 
^^  from  the  merry  throng  to  observe  the  sunset. 
He  had  to  manoeuver  deftly  to  this  end,  but  finally 
was  enabled  to  avail  himself  of  an  opportune  break 
in  conversation  to  step  into  a  slightly  secluded  angle 
of  the  house.  There,  he  seemed  to  forget  his  sur- 
roundings, to  become  wholly  absorbed  in  shifting 
hues  and  effects.  These  in  turn  had  faded  and 
now,  from  the  darkening  dome,  shone  a  myriad  of 
critical  stars. 

A  moment  Bruce  yet  continued  to  regard  them, 
his  face  pale  in  the  white  light;  then  abruptly 
wheeled.  As  he  stirred,  some  one  in  the  shadow, 
not  far  off,  who  had  been  observing  him,  also 
moved;  but  the  young  man  seemed  not  to  have 
noticed  this  person.  Had  he  done  so,  it  is  unlikely 
Mr.  Bruce  would  have  recognized  in  him  the  in- 
dividual he  had  seen  in  the  spick-and-span  white 


72  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

restaurant  several  weeks  before,  sitting  near  Mr. 
Samuel  Page.  The  nondescript  eyes  the  young 
fellow  had  studied  in  the  mirror  on  that  occasion 
were  now  dimmed  by  glasses  just  in  the  least 
shaded ;  an  "  imperial "  adorned  Mr.  Bolger's  chin, 
and  a  mustache,  conservatively  French,  his  upper 
lip. 

The  detective's  gaze  was  puzzled  as  Mr.  Bruce 
walked  away;  he  peered  down  the  hill  below  where 
the  young  man  had  been  standing,  but  only  the 
spectral  trees  and  the  dim  landscape  afar  met  his 
look.  He  fancied  that  in  one  of  the  bushes  half 
discernible  below  he  could  hear  a  sound  as  of  a 
person  moving,  but  was  not  sure.  He  concluded  at 
length  it  was  only  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  and 
turned  to  the  grosser  flare  of  the  artificial  lights  in 
lamps  and  lanterns  now  illumining  the  grounds  and 
gardens. 

He  saw  Mr.  Bruce  again,  his  face  no  longer  wear- 
ing that  intent,  rapt  look,  but  marked  with  an 
expression,  at  once  light  and  conventional.  Withal, 
keenly  alert !  While  Chatfield  Bruce's  lips  breathed 
witticisms,  or  permitted  themselves  platitudes,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  see,  to  telegraph  a  good  deal  to  his 


INCIDENTS  73 

brain.  He  talked  now  to  Colonel  Manyan,  a  near- 
by resident,  and  Mr.  Bolger  vaguely  felt  the  young 
fellow  was  intuitively  weighing,  considering  the 
rough  and  the  fine  points  of  that  particular"  in- 
dividuality. Why?  Through  a  habit  of  quiet 
analysis  ? 

The  military,  or  ex-military  man  (he  had  re- 
tired, or  been  retired,  from  the  army)  seemed  rather 
an  important  person;  a  bachelor.  Financial  ad- 
versity had,  the  detective  knew,  buzzed  about  his 
ears;  he  appeared,  however,  one  not  easily  abashed 
by  creditors.  His  bearing  was  more  erect  than 
that  of  many  people  who  pay  their  bills.  Bolger 
approached;  while  seeming  to  study  the  architec- 
tural outlines  of  the  new  house,  he  strove  to  catch 
their  words.  He  heard  but  part  of  them.  Their 
conversation  was  conventional;  it  bore  upon  Uncle 
Sam's  bizarre  little  group  of  islets  in  the  Far  East. 
Then  the  tones  of  others  intervened;  among  them, 
Miss  Flossie  Burke's.  That  young  woman  talked 
gaily ;  the  observer  noticed,  however,  a  slight  irrele- 
vancy in  her  replies.  He  became  also  presently 
aware  she  took  a  furtive  interest  in  something,  or 
somebody  beyond  those  she  conversed  with. 


74  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

The  green  eyes,  lifting  capriciously,  now  this 
way,  then  that,  seemed  to  focus,  for  a  moment,  on 
the  clean-cut  profile  of  Chatfield  Bruce.  Bolger 
looked  thoughtfully  down;  when  he  lifted  his  gaze 
again,  Bruce  had  gone.  Perhaps  it  was  a  part  of 
his  social  policy  to  bestow  upon  any  one  but  a 
few  moments  of  his  time  and  attention.  Miss 
Flossie  Burke,  however,  still  remained  near;  she 
was  not  conversing  quite  so  rapidly  as  she  had  been ; 
the  least  touch  of  constraint  had  fallen  on  her  gaiety. 
Bolger  now  studied  an  almost  imperceptible  petu- 
lancy  of  the  girl's  full  red  lips ;  then  his  eyes  shift- 
ing, met  those  of  Mr.  Goldberg,  not  far  from 
them. 

There  was  a  faintly  preoccupied  expression  on 
that  person's  face.  The  observer  could  guess  at  the 
cause.  Had  the  host  become  somewhat  anxious  at 
Sir  Archibald's  non-appearance?  No  doubt  he  had 
given  one  or  two  of  his  guests  to  infer  that  the  dis- 
tinguished visitor,  whose  family  occupied  several 
pages  in  Burke's  Peerage,  was  going  to  be  there, 
and  the  newrs  had  become  disseminated  through- 
out the  gathering.  People  glanced  quickly,  ques- 
tioningly  at  every  new-comer;  the  late  arrivals  fell 


INCIDENTS  75 

under  a  mild  bane  of  silent  disapproval  because  they 
were  not  some  one  else. 

Mr.  Bolger  was  also  slightly  disappointed.  He 
had  wanted  to  see  Sir  Archibald.  The  latter's  ac- 
ceptance of  the  invitation  to  be  present  at  Mr. 
Goldberg's  that  evening  the  detective  had  regarded 
as  a  fortunate  coincidence;  he  even  found  in  it 
subject  for  thought.  There  were  acts  within  acts 
in  this  drama  he  did  not  understand.  He  wanted 
to  converse  with  Miss  Burke,  to  become  acquainted 
with  her,  but  refrained  for  reasons  of  prudence. 
That  young  woman  might  have  heard  his  voice  once 
or  twice  on  other  occasions.  Her  faculties  were 
keen.  So  he  discreetly  annexed  unto  himself  a  gos- 
sipy old  dowager  and  asked  her  to  supper,  which 
was  now  announced. 

Chatfield  Bruce  had  been  delegated  to  take  Miss 
Goldberg  in  —  or  rather,  out,  for  the  elaborate 
collation  was  served  out-of-doors,  beneath  the 
greenwood  trees.  There  were  buffets  and  many 
tables  that  would  accommodate  from  six  to  eight 
or  ten  guests.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goldberg,  the  latter 
a  refined  pretty  woman,  were  at  one  of  the  tables 
and  the  former  called  to  Mr.  Bruce  and  his  daughter 


76  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

to  join  them.  Bolger  found  another  table  close  by. 
At  Mr.  Goldberg's  table  were,  also,  Miss  Flossie 
Burke,  Colonel  Manyan,  and  two  other  couples. 
Miss  Burke,  who  was  opposite  Mr.  Bruce  and  Miss 
Goldberg,  regarded  them  with  seemingly  casual, 
though  really  sharp  scrutiny.  Miss  Goldberg 
would  have  been  generally  considered  merely  nice- 
looking,  but  the  ornaments  she  wore  were  regal. 

"Are  they  real?"  The  voice  must  have  be- 
longed to  one  of  those  "  jokers "  of  whom  Mr. 
Goldberg  had  spoken. 

The  company,  moved  by  the  daring  facetious- 
ness  of  the  remark,  laughed.  "  How  about  it,  Mr. 
Bruce?"  The  jovial  one  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hostess  was  a  short,  red-faced  man,  the  head  of 
a  big  wholesale  store,  a  block  below  Mr.  Goldberg's 
on  Broadway.  "  You're  nearest  them." 

Between  Bruce  and  the  detective  a  vase  of 
flowers  on  the  latter's  table  intervened;  Bolger 
moved  it  slightly,  as  if  unconsciously.  He  dis- 
cerned the  other's  now  grave  features,  his  earnest 
downward  look  toward  the  somewhat  embarrassed, 
not  wholly  displeased,  Miss  Goldberg.  "  They  ap- 
pear so  to  me,"  said  the  young  man  quietly,  in  the 


INCIDENTS  77 

tone  of  one  who  felt,  perhaps,  the  conversation  had 
taken  a  turn  in  rather  questionable  taste. 

But  others  were  not  so  fastidious.  "  Are  you  a 
judge?"  Colonel  Manyan,  next  to  Miss  Burke, 
asked  in  his  habitually  loud  military  manner;  he 
had  been  partaking  rather  freely  of  the  punch  and 
champagne. 

Bruce  met  his  gaze.  A  slight  impediment  in  the 
other's  accents  impressed  itself  on  the  young  man 
accustomed  to  note  trifles.  In  his  youth  the 
colonel  had  probably  been  a  stutterer;  had  cured 
himself,  almost ;  only  in  moments  of  excitement,  or 
alcoholic  stimulation,  a  trace  of  the  old  affliction  be- 
came manifest.  "  Are  you  a  judge?  "  he  repeated. 

"  That  depends,"  Bruce  said  lightly. 

"  Upon  what  ?  "     Miss  Flossie  leaned  forward. 

"  Upon  what  you  would  call  a  '  judge.' '  Chat- 
field  Bruce  smiled  back  at  her.  "  Pearl  collecting," 
toying  with  his  boutonniere,  "  is  rather  too  ex- 
pensive a  hobby  for  many  of  us.  Outside  of  the 
buyers  and  sellers,  actually  in  the  pearl  business, 
there  are  not  many,  I  fancy,  who  can  claim  to  be 
real  experts." 

"  Right !  "   Colonel  Manyan's  accents  rang  out. 


78  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Nevertheless,  some  of  us  think  we  are  versed. 
In  my  own  time  I  have  seen  a  lot  of  fine  pearls, 
many  the  best  product  of  the  Sulu  Seas,  and  allow 
me  to  observe,"  to  Mr.  Goldberg,  "  your  daughter's 
seem  truly  magnificent.  Transcendently  lovely !  " 
The  long  word  cost  him  a  slight  effort.  "  That  is," 
he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  from  this  distance !  " 

"  Oh,  they  won't  look  any  worse  close  to,"  re- 
torted the  proud  owner.  "  Those  pearls  will  bear 
inspection.  My  dear,"  to  his  daughter,  "  let  Colonel 
Many  an  see  them." 

At  his  table  Bolger  started  slightly  and  shifted 
the  vase  of  flowers  farther  aside.  Miss  Goldberg 
unclasped  the  shining  rope;  it  slid  from  her  hand 
over  the  military  man's  outstretched  fingers.  Colo- 
nel Manyan's  gaze  lighted.  "  By  Jove !  "  he  said. 

"  Ever  see  anything  finer  ?  "  Mr.  Goldberg  de- 
manded, leaning  back. 

"  Never ! "  Some  of  the  vibrant  quality  had 
gone  out  of  the  military  man's  voice.  "  By  Jove!  " 
he  repeated,  thickly,  almost  in  a  murmur. 

"  May  I  see  them  ? "  Miss  Flossie's  breath 
seemed  to  come  a  little  faster. 

"  Certainly ;  pass  them  along,"  said  the  owner. 


INCIDENTS  79 

Colonel  Manyan  released  them  reluctantly.  The 
girl  gave  a  rapturous  exclamation: 

"  Ah ! "  The  pearls  nestled  in  her  rosy  palm. 
"  How  nice  they  feel !  " 

"  Put  them  on,"  said  Goldberg. 

"  No ;  no !  It  would  be  so  hard  to  take  them 
off!"  She  made  a  gesture.  "Begone,  tempta- 
tion!" 

The  rope  of  pearls  went  now  to  Chatfield  Bruce. 
The  young  fellow  had  moved  his  chair  slightly  away 
from  the  table.  A  servant  was  just  filling  his  glass, 
the  one  that  contained  a  light  claret,  for  Bruce  had 
not  touched  his  champagne.  This  servant  was 
swarthy,  an  Oriental  —  a  Chinaman.  He  stood 
back  now  in  the  half-light,  without  motion;  only 
a  slight  sheen  on  some  silk  material  he  wore  varied 
to  the  flutterings  of  the  night  wind.  Behind,  the 
lanterns  on  the  tree  branches  seemed  imbued  with  a 
sudden  spirit  of  life.  They  waved,  danced.  Trail- 
ing shadows  ran  this  way  and  that.  Mr.  Bruce 
glanced  at  the  pearls. 

"  There  is  one  test,"  he  said  lightly,  "  you  might 
have  applied."  His  shoulder  turned  slightly  from 
Mr.  Goldberg;  the  necklace  flashed  in  the  air; 


8o  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

lights  gleamed  on  it.  His  fingers,  somewhat 
scratched,  caught  Miss  Flossie's  eyes;  but  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  that  had  been  conventionally 
nonchalant  now  arrested  and  held  Bolger's  glance. 

Against  a  darker  background,  Bruce's  features 
seemed  chiseled  with  cameo-like  distinctness.  A 
light  that  comes  of  the  calm  contemplation  of  the 
faultlessly  beautiful  shone  for  a  second  time  that 
evening  from  his  eyes.  They  seemed  to  caress, 
without  covetousness,  the  pure,  iridescent  spheres; 
to  linger  on  them  with  a  high,  unselfish  delight. 
The  pleased  curvings  of  his  fine  lips  paid  them 
tribute. 

"  Two  rings,  one  within  another,  on  every  per- 
fect globule,"  they  heard  him  say  in  low  tones; 
then  he  paused,  and  got  up,  as  if  the  better  to  return 
the  ornaments  to  their  owner.  His  tall  figure 
threw  a  shadow  across  the  lawn;  he  was  smiling 
once  more  down  on  the  people  at  the  table.  "  The 
test  is  not  infallible,  but  — " 

With  a  gallant  gesture  he  was  about  to  replace 
the  rope  on  Miss  Goldberg's  neck,  when  his  pur- 
pose was  accidentally  arrested.  The  Chinaman, 
apparently  mindful  only  of  glasses  that  needed  re- 


""V/-E 


He  got  up  as  if  the  better  to  return  the  ornaments — Page  80 


INCIDENTS  Si 

plenishing,  had  stretched  out  his  arm  toward  the 
delicate  crystal  between  that  young  lady  and  Bruce ; 
but  instead  of  filling  the  glass,  the  Oriental  had 
suddenly  straightened. 

At  the  sound  of  a  voice  —  a  footstep  behind, 
that  caused  him  to  throw  a  quick  glance  over  his 
shoulder?  The  abrupt  movement  brought  him  in 
sharp  contact  with  Bruce's  arm.  A  few  drops  of 
wine  splashed  on  the  young  man's  sleeve  and  the 
pearls  slipped  from  his  fingers.  With  a  quick 
movement  Bruce  stooped  and  caught  them  before 
they  fell-  to  the  ground,  and,  whipping  a  hand- 
kerchief from  his  coat,  he  wiped  away  the  mois- 
ture. 

The  Oriental,  recovering  himself,  bent  very 
low,  murmuring  an  abject  apology.  A  frown  had 
sprung  to  Bruce's  face;  he  said  something  hastily, 
in  some  dialect,  his  tone  sharply  rasping.  Bolger 
would  have  given  much  to  have  known  what  it  was. 
The  detective  had,  at  that  instant,  involuntarily  risen 
from  his  seat.  What  was  happening;  was  anything 
happening  —  of  moment  ?  A  puff  of  wind  agitated 
the  lanterns;  one  or  two  went  out.  Along  the 
horizon  the  vague  warmth  of  heat-lightning  made 


82  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

itself  manifest;  a  hemlock,  on  the  second,  stood 
out  with  spectral-like  vividness. 

Bolger's  pulses  beat  faster.  Around  him,  heads 
began  unaccountably  to  nod  this  way  and  that,  as 
if  a  gust  of  air  had  affected  them;  a  murmur  rose. 
What  was  it?  What  were  the  people  at  his  table 
saying?  Chatfield  Bruce  yet  held  the  pearls,  the 
wonderful  white  glowing  pearls.  But  a  few  mo- 
ments had  elapsed  since  he  had  taken  them. 

"Sir  Archibald!  Sir  Archibald!"  Yes,  that 
was  what  they  were  murmuring,  whispering  —  not 
exactly  agog,  or  agape  —  but  very  curious,  unde- 
niably ! 

"  Beastly  motor  broke  down,  don't  you  know. 
—  Deuced  inconvenient !  —  Sorry !  —  Very !  "  A 
voice,  broadly  accented,  slightly  bored,  fell  upon 
gratified  ears;  it  was  Sir  Archibald  himself  who 
was  speaking.  Mr.  Goldberg  had  not  raised  ex- 
pectations in  vain. 

The  Englishman  came  forward  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  house,  followed  by  the  other  late 
arrivals.  Bolger's  glance  swerved  an  instant  to 
him,  then  returned  to  Chatfield  Bruce. 

That   gentleman  no  longer  had  the   pearls;   he 


INCIDENTS  83 

had  returned  them  to  Miss  Goldberg.  There  was 
no  doubt  about  that;  Bolger  saw  them  very  dis- 
tinctly. He  gave  a  half  sigh,  as  of  relief;  he  had 
momentarily  felt  quite  unlike  himself.  Decidedly 
the  Page  case  had  got  on  his  nerves;  yes,  de- 
cidedly, he  said  in  his  own  mind  as  the  host's 
daughter,  moving  with  a  proud  inner  consciousness 
of  the  fortune  she  again  wore  on  her  neck,  stepped 
forward  with  her  parents,  to  greet  Sir  Archibald 
and  those  who  had  come  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ON   THE   GREEN 

MR.  BRUCE  held  back;  he  even,  perhaps, 
showed  a  tendency  to  withdraw  a  little. 
But  no  one  regarded  him ;  the  last  arrivals  —  Sir 
Archibald  and  his  explanations  which  he,  in  the 
same  language  and  the  same  cold,  monotonous 
tones,  reiterated  several  times  —  absorbed  general 
attention. 

Did  Mr.  Bruce  feel  himself  deposed,  over- 
shadowed by  another  in  the  estimation  of  the  proud 
possessor  of  the  pearls?  Any  young  man  of 
democratic  predilection  might  have  felt  slightly 
piqued  under  the  circumstances.  Miss  Goldberg's 
smile  for  nobility  was  not  to  be  measured.  Bruce's 
expression,  however,  seemed  only  that  of  a  person 
listening  courteously,  observing  conventionally  a 
scene  in  which  he  had  no  great  concern.  His  eyes 

I 

passed  casually  over  Mr.  Wood  and  lingered  but  a 

84 


ON  THE  GREEN  85 

moment  on  Sir  Archibald.     Yet  in  that  brief  period 
his  gaze  appeared  to  harden. 

Or  was  it  only  the  light  of  one  of  the  lamps, 
shining  on  his  features,  that  threw  a  glint  like  a 
spark  from  his  look  ?  It  faded  almost  immediately ; 
melted  into  vague  distance,  as  he  turned  from  the 
Englishman's  rather  massive  face  to  an  indefinite 
background.  From  the  distance,  beyond  the  house, 
came  the  pounding  of  the  engine  of  a  car.  Some 
one  was  endeavoring  to  repair  a  defect  in  the  mech- 
anism of  the  motor  that  had  finally  conveyed  Sir 
Archibald  thither. 

"  How  delightfully  unaffected  Sir  Archibald  ap- 
pears —  just  like  one  of  us !  "  the  dowager,  Mr. 
Bolger's  companion  remarked  enthusiastically. 

Sir  Archibald  was,  in  his  heavy  way,  very  courte- 
ous to  all,  notably  to  Miss  Goldberg,  regal  with 
gems. 

"  But  what  a  magnet,  those  pearls,  for  him  who 
took  the  Morrow  emeralds,  the  Page  bonds,"  went 
on  the  dowager.  "  That  subtle  and  mysterious  per- 
son whose  detection  is  so  much  desired !  " 

Chatfield  Bruce  moved  farther  away.  The  sup- 
per was  practically  over,  and  jtliss  Goldberg  evinced 


86  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

an  unmistakable  desire  to  attach  herself  to  Sir  Archi- 
bald. Perhaps  Mr.  Bruce  argued  that,  on  the 
whole,  he  would  not  be  committing  a  social  faux 
pas  by  almost  imperceptibly  eliminating  himself 
from  the  proximity  of  that  prominent  central  group 
and  merging  into  the  general,  kaleidescopic  whole. 
At  any  rate,  with  charming  modesty  and  unob- 
trusiveness,  he  was  about  to  do  so,  when  Miss 
Marjorie  Wood's  eyes  chanced  to  rest  on  him. 
Of  course,  he  came  forward  at  once;  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.  Did  she,  however,  divine  from 
his  manner  what  had  been  his  intention,  notice  even 
now  an  instant's  hesitation  in  moving  toward  her  — 
she,  who  was  accustomed  to  being  seen  first,  and 
sought  out,  too,  by  those  with  whom  she  was  ac- 
quainted, however  slightly? 

The  hint  of  coldness  in  Miss  Wood's  blue  eyes 
soon  vanished.  The  young  man  laughed  it  down ; 
he  seemed  to  charm  her  as  he  did  so  many  others. 
His  greeting  of  Sir  Archibald  was  easy,  conven- 
tional; his  long,  slim  fingers  met  the  other's  big 
ones  with  apparent  glad  frankness.  The  gaiety  on 
Brace's  features  contrasted  with  the  stolid  reticence 
of  the  Briton. 


ON  THE  GREEN  87 

"  You  and  Bruce  should  enjoy  knowing  each 
other,"  Mr.  Wood,  a  refined  looking  man  of  about 
sixty,  said  in  his  friendliest  fashion.  "  You  have 
something  in  common  —  the  Orient.  I  have  no- 
ticed that  people  who  have  lived  long  in  the  Far 
East  seem  to  like  to  get  together,  to  exchange  odd 
experiences,  no  doubt." 

The  younger  man  disclaimed  any  adventures  out 
of  the  ordinary.  Mr.  Wood,  as  if  pleased  by  this 
modesty,  smiled  indulgently.  He  and  Bruce  were 
members  of  the  same  club;  the  elder  had  rather 
sought  out  the  other  on  occasions,  finding  him  in- 
teresting to  talk  to,  when  he  would  talk.  He  ap- 
peared disposed  to  do  so  now ;  in  fact,  exerted 
himself  and  was  at  his  best.  Mr.  Wood  laughed, 
but  Sir  Archibald's  face  remained  Sphinx-like. 

It  may  be,  he  was  interested  in  Miss  Wood,  or 
a  conversation  between  her  and  Miss  Flossie 
Burke.  That  young  woman  had  rushed  to  the 
other.  They  had  met  somewhere  once,  an  occasion 
probably  remembered  more  by  Samuel  Page's  niece 
than  by  Mr.  Wood's  daughter. 

Miss  Marjorie  responded  lightly  to  that  effusive 
greeting.  She  had  come  prepared  to  enjoy  the 


83  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

novelty  of  the  event;  of  being  set  down  among  those 
to  whom  she  was  for  the  most  part  a  stranger. 
It  was  Sir  Archibald  who  had  evinced  a  desire  to 
be  asked  here.  Why?  She  couldn't  imagine.  Of 
course  it  was  jolly;  and  it  had  been  jollier  still  to 
meet  with  a  mishap  on  the  way.  Sir  Archibald 
had  taken  it  so  seriously;  seemed  so  unduly  an- 
noyed! Her  look  swept  the  gaily  lighted  grounds; 
the  house  with  every  window  agleam,  then  returned 
to  the  damask-spread  board,  the  half-filled  glasses. 
"  I'm  afraid  we  have  interrupted  your  little  table 
party  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  We  were  only  admiring  Miss  Gold- 
berg's pearls;  passing  them  around,  don't  you 
know." 

"Indeed?"  Miss  Wood,  herself,  wore  no  orna- 
ments. 

"  And  Mr.  Bruce  was  just  alluding  to  some 
test,  or  something  of  the  kind."  Sir  Archibald 
looked  around. 

"  Mr.  Bruce  ? "  Marjorie  Wood's  tones  con- 
veyed an  accent  of  surprise.  "  Then  that  was  what 
he  appeared  so  taken  with  when  we  came  up  that 
when  the  servant  brushed  against  him,  he  — " 


ON  THE  GREEN  89 

"  Dropped  them  upon  Miss  Goldberg's  neck !  " 
laughed  Flossie  Burke. 

"  No ;  I  meant  —  I  thought  — " 

"Isn't  it  charming?  The  arrangement  of  the 
grounds,  I  mean  —  that  pavilion  for  dancing?" 
Sir  Archibald  had  taken  a  step  or  two  in  their 
direction  and  directed  his  remark  to  Miss  Wood. 
"  A  pavilion  ?  Just  fancy !  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  twirled  his  heavy  mustache, 
while  his  lazy  eyes,  slightly  expectant,  turned  now 
to  Miss  Burke;  she,  among  many  others,  had  not 
yet  been  presented  to  him.  If  the  observer  wanted 
a  reason  for  that  gentleman's  rather  abrupt  action 
at  the  moment,  here  was  a  simple  one.  Miss 
Flossie's  charms  were  unmistakable;  she  at  once 
began  to  entertain  Sir  Archibald,  her  manner,  that 
of  society,  a  haphazard,  frothy  way  of  talking  at 
not  to  one. 

The  host's  basso,  calling  for  chairs  and  another 
table  to  be  placed  against  the  one  from  which  they 
had  risen,  broke  in  on  them,  and  they  seated  them- 
selves again. 

Senor  Caglioni  appeared  presently.  Undersized, 
wiry,  the  secretary  carried  himself  with  an  odd 


90  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

briskness.  A  black  beard  adorned  a  countenance, 
at  once  swarthy  and  secretive.  With  all  his  as- 
sumption of  Portuguese  ancestry,  there  was  some- 
thing un-European  about  him.  Perhaps  that  alien 
intimation  lay  in  the  eyes  that  offered  to  the  ob- 
server only  the  surface  lights  of  dark  shining  beads, 
and,  yes,  conveyed  in  their  setting,  though  remotely, 
some  reminder  of  a  "  slant."  He  held  himself  with 
an  assurance  in  the  least  forced,  and  when  the 
host  made  him  acquainted  with  those  at  the  table, 
bowed  to  each  after  the  ceremonious  fashion  of  the 
East.  As  he  regarded  the  people,  however,  his 
gaze  lacked  somewhat  in  steadfastness.  This  was 
especially  marked  when  the  host  called  Bruce  by 
name. 

It  might  have  been  the  secretary  found  the  in- 
cisive directness  of  Chatfield  Bruce's  glance  in  the 
least  disconcerting  td  eyes  grown  sensitive  from 
the  glare  of  oriental  suns.  For,  meeting  that  gaze, 
Sefior  Caglioni's  lids  fluttered  like  the  wings  of 
an  insect,  his  body  described,  possibly,  a  greater 
curve.  Bruce  nodded  carelessly,  almost  curtly,  and 
turned  again  to  Miss  Wood. 

"  The  motor  has  been  repaired,  Sir  Archibald," 


ON  THE  GREEN  91 

Caglioni  murmured,  taking  a  place  near  the  foot 
of  the  table. 

"  Good !  My  secretary  is  quite  a  mechanic,"  ex- 
plained Sir  Archibald.  "  Couldn't  resist  helping 
overhaul  the  parts,  don't  you  know." 

"  Mechanic  ? "  observed  Mr.  Wood  lightly. 
"  And  a  linguist,  a  stenographer,  a  sportsman !  A 
man  of  many  accomplishments!"  he  added. 

"A  sportsman?"  exclaimed  Miss  Burke  viva- 
ciously. 

Mr.  Wood  laughed.  "  Don't  know  as  I  ought 
quite  to  call  the  sefior  that,  though!  He  put  in  a 
good  part  of  to-day  among  the  tangles  and  under- 
brush of  my  place,  but  brought  back  only  one  soli- 
tary bunny." 

The  senor  made  a  deprecatory  shrug.  "  I  am  not 
a  very  good  shot." 

"  Aren't  you  ?  "  Bruce  had  turned  and  was  look- 
ing at  him  curiously ;  then  his  gaze  became  more  dis- 
tant, as  if  some  far-away  baffling  impression  had 
suddenly  assailed  him.  An  instant,  and  he  regained 
his  customary  light  poise.  "  Your  place,  Mr. 
Wood,  or  the  rear  of  it,  looks  a  likely  spot  for 
poachers." 


92  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  inaccessible,"  Mr. 
Wood  replied.  "  You  may  not  have  noticed,  just 
walking  by."  Again  Bruce's  eyes  lifted  to  Caglioni, 
and  he  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  table. 

The  evening  wore  on.  Bruce  talked  very  little 
now.  The  wine  before  him,  neglected,  had  long 
since  ceased  to  effervesce ;  became  but  a  flat  golden 
surface.  On  Marjorie  Wood's  cheeks  the  rosebuds 
that  had  unfolded  their  hues  to  the  rush  of  the 
night  wind  on  the  way  thither  had  deepened;  she 
was  speaking;  he,  resting  his  head  on  his  hand, 
seemed  content  to  look  at  her  and  listen. 

Across  the  lawn  a  faint  mist,  the  end  of  a  cloud 
hanging  low,  passed  like  a  wraith;  in  the  grass 
a  sibilant  sound  of  insects  mingled  with  the  human 
murmur.  It,  both,  were  drowned  by  the  band;  a 
waltz  —  this  time,  The  Merry  Widow  —  again  vied 
with  the  bursting  bubbles  for  votaries.  People  of 
an  accord  deserted  buffets  and  tables. 

As  Sir  Archibald  and  Miss  Goldberg  passed  to- 
ward the  pavilion,  the  watchful  Bolger  saw  Sefior 
Caglioni  leave  his  chair  and  approach  them.  But 
although  his  lips  addressed  Sir  Archibald,  the  sec- 
retary's gaze  caressed  furtively  the  rope  on  Miss 


ON  THE  GREEN  93 

Goldberg's  neck;  as  it  did  so,  the  pupils  of  his 
brown  eyes  seemed  slowly  to  dilate.  The  smoke 
of  a  cigar  in  the  hand  of  a  neighbor  floated  be- 
fore the  intent  look  of  the  observer.  A  second  it 
blurred  the  picture.  When  that  slight  haze  had 
swept  away,  Sir  Archibald  and  his  partner  had 
moved  on.  Sefior  Caglioni  had  turned,  as  if  in- 
voluntarily, toward  the  host;  a  gleam  of  sardonic 
humor  shot  from  his  eyes.  The  detective  who  saw, 
experienced  momentary  wonder,  half-apprehension. 
What  did  it  mean? 

At  that  moment  Chatfield  Bruce,  with  Miss  Wood 
at  his  side,  each  mindful  only  of  the  other,  stepped 
lightly  toward  the  dancers. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   STARTLING   SEQUENCE 

BRUCE  guided  without  effort,  faultlessly;  he 
could  not  have  done  otherwise.  The  young 
man  was  pagan  in  his  appreciation  of  certain  forms 
of  dancing  and  rhythm;  the  motion-epics  of  the 
Far  East,  based  on  the  varying  moods  of  nature, 
were  for  him  especial  delectation.  The  Viennese 
waltz  he  had  not  liked  so  well,  even  while  he  had 
perforce  glided  to  its  three-four  reiteration.  The 
dance  had  seemed,  as  it  were,  naive;  wanting  in 
suggestion  of  symbolism.  Its  barrenness  in  this  re- 
gard failed  to  impress  him  now. 

He  gazed  down.  The  girl's  face,  so  near  his 
shoulder,  revealed  no  cynical  doubts;  he  regarded 
it  on  a  sudden,  with  an  airy,  almost  boyish  trust. 
He  experienced  an  unreasoning  pleasure;  yes,  joy! 
He  did  not  know  why;  he  did  not  care.  It  did 
not  admit  of  argument  or  reason.  It  was  as  if, 

94 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE  95 

standing  at  the  foot  of  a  temple's  steps  on  the  dull 
banks  of  the  Pei-ho,  in  the  first  flush  of  youth's 
golden  dream,  he  had  been  about  to  embark,  when 
at  the  river's  edge  he  saw  her,  with  hair  dark  as 
an  eastern  princess'  and  eyes  like  the  blue  flowers 
that  lie  in  the  desert  beyond  the  walled  cities  — 
saw  her  and  took  her  with  him,  wherever  that  might 
be! 

It  happened  like  something  out  of  space,  out  of 
time  —  like  the  birth  of  a  star  or  the  death  of  one ! 
Only  the  environment  now,  the  actual  surrounding 
figures,  seemed  unreal,  wooden.  His  eyes  had  a 
new  ardor.  An  odd  sense  of  possession  dominated 
him.  She  was  his !  —  his !  Did  he  not  always  at- 
tain what  he  coveted?  His!  He  drew  her  closer, 
very  gently;  so  gently,  she  did  not  seem  to  notice. 
Oh,  for  the  magic  carpet  of  China,  that  might  whisk 
them  up  to  the  plain  of  Han,  the  sea  of  stars !  But 
one  could  take,  carry  off  what  was  of  great  worth 
without  oriental  sorcery!  If  he  only  would  — 
One!  two!  three!  the  rhythms  continued. 

After  the  first  few  tentative  moments,  the  im- 
portant, crucial  test  of  a  partner,  Marjorie  Wood 
had  resigned  herself  to  Bruce  with  a  confidence  all 


96  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

would  be  well.  She  yielded  unreservedly  to  the 
glad  measures;  it  was  quite  primeval,  dancing  like 
that,  under  the  stars.  The  latter  seemed  to  whirl 
around  bewilderingly ;  mad,  dancing  stars,  when 
one  tried  to  sort  them  out!  Chimerical  points  of 
light !  —  Venus,  Mars,  the  Dipper,  all  became 
merged,  mixed!  She  laughed  softly,  and  Bruce 
again  looked  down  —  at  blue  eyes  —  like  bright 
merry  flowers  now,  dancing  in  the  breeze.  The 
parted  red  lips  were  curved  to  a  smile;  a  flying 
tress  of  dark  hair  touched  his  cheek.  At  that  mo- 
ment Chatfield  Bruce  and  Marjorie  Wood  nearly 
collided  with  Sir  Archibald. 

The  young  man,  just  in  time  caught  sight,  for  an 
instant,  of  the  heavy,  now  rubicund  face ;  a  flare  of 
white  pearls,  agitated  by  the  swift  whirling  and 
Miss  Goldberg's  rapid  breathing.  Then  Bruce, 
with  a  slight  tightening  of  his  arm  about  the  slender, 
supple  waist,  swept  deftly  away  from  the  threaten- 
ing danger,  and  Miss  Wood  remained  unaware  of 
that  narrow  margin  of  escape  from  what,  in  this 
instance,  owing  to  Sir  Archibald's  bulk,  would  have 
been  a  distinct  physical  shock. 

The  music  came  to  an  end.     She  regarded  Chat- 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE  97 

field  Bruce  blithely;  he  had  not  disappointed  her. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Wood !  "  Mocking  irony, 
futility  of  words,  though  he  bent  to  the  part,  eyes 
agleam. 

Her  small,  white-gloved  hand  rested  now  on  his 
arm ;  she  found  herself  walking  away  with  him  quite 
naturally  across  the  lawn,  through  shaded  paths 
to  the  verge  of  the  more  thickly  wooded  park. 
She  hardly  noted  which  way  they  went;  he  still 
seemed  to  guide  her  as  he  had  in  the  dance.  Only 
now  he  talked  —  joyous  fantastic  nonsense,  like  a 
boy!  She  answered,  unreasoningly  vibrant,  re- 
sponsive to  his  mood,  as  if  some  of  the  magic  of 
the  night  had  crept  into  and  swayed  her  thoughts, 
too.  Though  now  and  then  she  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  a  little  questioning,  whimsically  surprised,  as 
if  asking,  was  he  the  incisive,  sometime  ironical, 
man  of  the  world  she  had  conceived  him  to  be? 

Did  he  read,  between  her  gay  words,  the  intrusive 
query?  If  so,  he  swept  it  aside,  light  as  thistle- 
down and  continued  to  lead  her  on  arbitrarily,  j 
with  implied  authority.  Her  hand  like  a  lily  leaf 
seemed  about  to  fall  from  his  black  sleeve.  He 
looked  at  it ;  it  yet  lingered  —  though  so  lightly, 


t)8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

as  if  it  might  float  off  and  away  for  ever,  on  an 
instant. 

They  paused,  at  length,  where  the  bank  descended 
precipitately.  How  beautiful  the  valley  sleeping  be- 
neath its  diaphanous  mantle  of  haze!  The  world, 
typified  by  the  concourse  of  small  red  dots  of  light, 
human  habitations,  how  far  away!  The  blithe 
words  died  on  the  girl's  lips;  her  gaze,  beneath 
sweeping  lashes,  looked  out  from  shadows  of  in- 
effable dreaminess.  Bruce,  too,  ceased  to  speak, 
but  the  glad  light  of  his  glance  rested  only  on  her; 
the  pale  perfect  contour  of  her  face,  the  hair,  black 
as  the  wing  of  a  night  bird.  He  who  a  few  mo- 
ments before  had  held  her  in  his  arms,  a  white- 
robed,  youthful  Aphrodite,  radiating  with  life, 
would  not  now  have  dared  to  touch  her.  Yet  a 
spell  of  wonderful  nearness  seemed  to  have  fallen 
on  them. 

To  hold  them  so  still!  A  moment;  an  eternity! 
Below,  a  stone  or  bit  of  gravel  became  loosened  and 
fell.  She  stirred;  their  glances  met.  A  brighter, 
more  intense  light  shone  abruptly  from  his,  as  if 
the  glad  diffused  rays  were  suddenly  gathered  and 
focused  into  points  of  fire  and  warmth,  that  played 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE  99 

on  her  like  a  clear  white  flame,  sending  with  dis- 
concerting swiftness  a  flood  of  color  to  her  cheeks, 
stirring  fuller,  stronger  pulsations  from  finger-tips 
to  throat,  awakening  something,  beneath  her  breast, 
that  beat  hard,  wildly! 

Loud  sang  the  insects ;  their  rhythmic  intonations 
seemed  to  fill  the  land.  Afar,  the  wood  appeared 
to  fade  away;  only  the  trees,  near  at  hand,  were 
very  insistent,  very  black,  and  yet  unreal,  too,  as 
if  with  their  up-curving  branches  they  had  been 
metamorphosed  into  many-storied  pagodas,  stand- 
ing in  some  far-eastern  garden,  full  of  odors  and 
strange  fragrances.  Out  of  the  night  she  heard 
her  name  whispered  —  or  was  it  but  fancy  ? 

Near  by,  a  distinct  sound,  the  sharp  crackling  of 
a  branch,  broke  startlingly  the  stillness.  Again  — 
as  if  a  footfall  in  the  wooded  park,  close  to  them, 
had  encountered  a  dead  limb  on  the  ground.  She 
looked  that  way;  her  hand  brushed  her  brow. 
Stepping  toward  them  from  beneath  one  of  the 
pagoda-like  trees,  she  saw  a  dark  form,  that 
stopped,  seemed  to  hesitate  at  sight  of  them,  then 
came  forward  and  turned,  acting  as  if  he  had  not 
observed  them,  and  stole  with  quick,  now  noiseless 


ioo  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

tread  toward  the  brightly  lighted  house.  The  re- 
flection of  pale  rays  played  on  him;  the  curious 
profile  with  high  cheek  bones;  the  glittering  eyes. 
Then  he  was  gone. 

"Why" — she  gave  an  odd  little  laugh — "that 
was  a  Chinaman." 

"  One  of  the  servants."  Bruce  suddenly  straight- 
ened, throwing  back  his  head,  as  if  at  the  same  time 
to  throw  something  from  him.  "  Mr.  Goldberg  has 
several  of  them." 

"  How  strange  — "     The  words  died  away. 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  make  excellent  servants." 

"  I  mean  his  appearing  like  that,  from  the  — " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Marjorie !  "  The  voice  was  Sir 
Archibald's.  He  had  approached  from  the  direction 
opposite  to  which  they  were  looking.  "  I  have  been 
searching  for  you  everywhere;  to  claim  my  dance, 
don't  you  know."  The  words  were  commonplace, 
but  his  glance,  passing  from  one  to  the  other, 
seemed  to  darken. 

Bruce  laughed  lightly;  his  eyes  now  had  the  cold 
gleam  of  a  simitar  in  the  moonlight. 

"  The  dance  is  half  over,"  Sir  Archibald  went 
on. 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE          101 

Marjorie  Wood  turned.  "  I  am  sorry."  In  her 
voice  was  an  accent  of  constraint. 

"  The  fault  is  mine,"  murmured  Bruce. 

Sir  Archibald  did  not  answer,  but  held  out  his 
arm  stiffly.  With  a  quick  backward  glance  the  girl 
moved  toward  him  and  Bruce  watched  them  walk 
away. 

When  a  short  time  later,  he  again  started  toward 
the  house,  the  lawn  was  nearly  deserted;  most  of 
the  guests  had  crowded  to  the  platform.  Toward 
the  west  a  bank  of  black  clouds  had  blotted  out  the 
stars;  a  faint  reverberation,  afar,  made  itself  heard. 
In  the  direction  from  whence  it  came,  above  the 
tree-tops,  the  red  moon,  like  a  sickle,  swung  mena- 
cingly. Bruce  regarded  it.  Not  far  from  the  lunar 
effect,  grim  shadows  were  reaching  out;  creeping 
farther  across  the  sky. 

From  them,  his  glance  turned  slowly  to  the  well- 
filled  platform.  Through  rapidly  moving  figures 
the  young  man  saw,  for  an  instant,  Miss  Wood; 
above  the  broad,  rather  heavy  shoulders  of  her 
partner,  he  catfght  a  fleeting  impression  of  her  face. 
Did  she  dance  as  lightly  as  she  had  danced  a  short 


102  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

time  ago?  The  flutter  of  her  white  gown  held  his 
look,  then,  like  the  creamy  tip  of  a  wave  that  ere 
the  eye  has  hardly  seen  it  is  lost  in  effervescence, 
it  vanished  in  the  vortex. 

He  looked  down;  his  long  fingers  pressed  close 
his  palm;  the  shadows  lay  on  his  face. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts !  "  The  voice  was 
Miss  Burke's.  She  had  stepped  to  his  side  from  the 
buffet,  where  a  number  of  couples  yet  lingered. 
"  But,  perhaps,  you  are  wondering  with  the  others," 
not  awaiting  his  answer,  "  what  Sir  Archibald's 
mission  to  this  country  may  be  ?  " 

"Sir  Archibald's  mission?"  He  looked  at  her 
quickly,  with,  she  might  almost  have  fancied,  swift 
inquiry. 

"A  tender  one,  if  rumor  can  be  relied  on!" 
Her  laugh  sounded  the  least  bit  artificial.  "  He  met 
Miss  Wood  first  in  Europe,"  she  continued. 

He  did  not  answer.  Did  she  find  his  silence  dis- 
appointing—  as  if  something  she  had  reached  for, 
had  proved  illusory? 

"  It  may  be,  though,  that  you  know  more  of  Sir 
Archibald's  mission  than  the  rest  of  us?" 

"I?"  crisply. 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE          103 

"As  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wood!" 

"  Acquaintance,"  he  corrected. 

"  Oh !  "  Her  glance  swung  toward  the  platform; 
again  he  suffered  the  silence  to  grow.  Her  foot 
tapped  the  earth  and  her  brows  drew  together. 

"  Do  you  see  that  person  over  there  ?  "  she  said 
suddenly. 

"  What  person  ? "  Her  backward  glance  had 
been  swift,  significant. 

"The  French-looking  one,  with  the  imperial, 
standing  near  the  platform.  He  is  watching  Miss 
Goldberg  —  or  the  pearls !  That,"  she  added 
sharply,  as  noting  the  effect  of  her  words  on  him, 
"  is  Mr.  Bolger." 

"Bolger?" 

"  You  have  never  heard  of  him?  " 

"  Is  he,"  perfunctorily,  "  a  detective?  " 

Miss  Burke's  laugh  rang  out;  it  was  rather  a 
peculiar  laugh,  caressing  or  cruel,  one  could  hardly 
tell  which.  "  By  the  way,  did  I  ever  speak  to  you 
about  that  drawing  left  in  my  uncle's  box  when 
the  bonds  were  taken?" 

"Did  you?"  he  murmured  politely.  "I  hardly 
remember." 


104  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  You  are  not  interested  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary !  "  patiently. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  observed,  more  quickly,  "  he  who 
left  the  drawing  in  Mr.  Page's  box  would  be.  In- 
terested, I  mean!  If  he  knew  it  may  prove  of  im- 
portance yet,  in  the  case!  Although  neither  Mr. 
Bolger  nor  my  uncle  noted  at  the  time,  that  bit  of 
paper  did  bear  something  distinguishing;  incrimi- 
nating !  "  Did  he  start  now  ?  At  last !  She  was 
not  sure.  His  countenance,  in  the  shadow,  could 
hardly  be  seen;  he  raised  his  head  suddenly. 

"  Let  us  hope  you  are  right."  He  smiled.  "If 
I  were  to  give  you  any  advice  it  would  be :  Guard 
carefully  that  paper !  " 

The  reply  that  sprang  to  her  lips  was  interrupted ; 
with  a  sudden  exclamation,  half -apprehensively  she 
caught  his  arm.  A  zigzag  fork  of  lightning  was 
launched  unexpectedly  from  the  sky.  It  left  the 
eyes  dazzled,  almost  blinded.  At  the  same  time  the 
summer  squall  that  had  been  gradually  drawing 
nearer,  suddenly  broke.  The  wind  dissipated  the 
dancers,  played  havoc  with  the  festoons  of  flowers, 
the  electric  bulbs  and  the  many  Chinese  lanterns. 
It  tore  some  of  the  last,  lighted  with  candles,  from 


A  STARTLING  SEQUENCE          105 

the  trees  and  sent  them  scurrying  hither  and  thither. 
A  few  caught  fire,  soared  across  the  lawn  like  great 
blazing  beetles,  and,  vanishing  over  the  hill-top, 
were  lost  in  the  night. 

Under  the  shelter  of  a  tree,  Bruce,  with  Miss 
Flossie  clinging  closer,  stood  a  moment  watching 
those  who  hurried  from  the  platform. 

"  It  is  such  a  moment  as  this,"  the  young  man 
laughed,  "  that  he  to  whom  you  referred  just  now 
would  avail  himself  of  for  his  nefarious  pur- 
pose." 

As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  rested  on  Miss  Goldberg, 
running,  with  Senor  Caglioni,  toward  the  house. 
But  Bruce's  glance  lingered  only  an  instant  on  her, 
then  passed  to  one  behind,  gay  as  a  nymph  laugh- 
ing at  the  terrors  of  the  storm-god.  For  Miss 
Wood,  the  squall  was  a  diverting  incident;  fitting, 
it  may  be,  her  mood,  now  mercurial,  restless,  wel- 
coming any  change. 

A  second,  Bruce  so  saw  her,  a  fleet,  blithe  vision ; 
coming  after  her,  Sir  Archibald,  somewhat  too  far 
behind  for  the  buoyant  cavalier  the  moment  seemed 
to  call  for.  A  second,  or  the  part  of  a  second,  the 
flash  of  Bruce's  gaze  thus  perceived  her;  and  then 


io6  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

something,  startling,  unlooked-for,  altered  the  pic- 
ture. 

One  of  the  lanterns,  a  flaming  mass  of  paper> 
swept  directly  toward  her.  The  burning  tissue, 
caught  in  the  gusts,  seemed  to  spring  almost  vi- 
ciously at  her.  The  wind  held  it  to  her  gown.  She 
tried  to  brush  it  away,  but  in  vain;  her  dress,  of  the 
flimsiest  material,  in  turn,  became  ignited. 

Miss  Flossie  Burke  heard  Chatfield  Bruce  say 
something,  felt  his  arm  fiercely  whipped  from  her 
fingers  which  had  involuntarily  closed  upon  it. 
What  followed  afterward  she  hardly  knew.  She 
only  saw  in  her  bewilderment,  a  turmoil  of  people, 
one  more  conspicuous  than  the  others,  who  threw 
off  his  coat,  wrapped  it  around  the  flames,  beating 
them  with  his  hands. 

His  movements  had  been  lightning-like;  she  had 
scarcely  followed  them.  He  was  kneeling  on  the 
grass  now,  striking  in  that  same  fierce  manner,  with 
the  incredible  swiftness  she  was  vaguely  cognizant 
of  when  he  had  torn  himself  away  from  her.  Sir 
Archibald,  too,  lent  his  assistance  —  rather  late,  Miss 
Burke  afterward  remembered  thinking. 


IT  all  happened  very  quickly  and  was  soon  over; 
what  harm  had  been  done  remained  to  be  seen. 
Miss  Flossie  with  others  pressed  excitedly  forward. 
Was  he  much  injured,  badly  burned?  She  had 
seen  his  hands  and  arms  enveloped  by  the  flames. 
None  noted  the  shape  her  inquiries  took ;  the  excess 
of  agitation  in  the  girl's  greenish  eyes.  She  and  a 
number  of  others  were  waved  back.  Authority 
stepped  in ;  among  the  guests  was  a  doctor. 

Miss  Wood,  happily,  proved  to  have  been  un- 
harmed by  the  flames,  but  Mr.  Bruce  had  suffered 
a  few  actual  injuries;  his  right  hand,  especially, 
showed  several  bad  burns.  He,  however,  made 
light  of  it ;  not,  apparently,  through  a  desire  to  emu- 
late the  conventional  after-role  in  instances  of  the 
kind,  but  rather  to  escape  the  importunities  of  those 
who  insisted  on  making  too  much  of  it. 

The  hand  was  duly  bound  and  bandaged,  where- 
107 


io8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

upon  Bruce  announced  his  intention  of  returning 
to  his  inn  in  the  village.  To  this  Mr.  Wood  offered 
strenuous  objections.  The  least  he,  Mr.  Wood, 
could  do  under  the  circumstances,  he  asserted,  was 
to  offer  the  young  man  the  hospitality  of  his  home, 
not  far  distant.  To  permit  Bruce  to  walk  down  to 
the  tavern  in  the  town,  in  his  condition,  was  out 
of  the  question;  not  to  be  thought  of!  The  young 
man  needed  care  and  attention. 

To  which  Bruce  replied  he  had  been  "  looked  af- 
ter "  already,  very  well  indeed ;  felt  now  quite  able 
to  look  after  himself.  Besides  —  he  dwelt  on  this 
—  were  not  all  his  little  belongings  at  the  inn?  He 
had  with  him,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  jocularity,  but 
the  clothes  he  had  on  and  those  were  slightly  dam- 
aged. Mr.  Wood,  equally  persistent,  answered  his 
grip  or  trunk  could  be  sent  for;  he  would  speak  at 
once  to  his  man  about  that. 

Perhaps  the  twinges  in  his  hand,  arms  and  shoul- 
ders made  Bruce  less  combative,  under  pressure, 
than  he  wished  to  be;  perhaps  Sir  Archibald's  un- 
expected intervention  at  the  moment  assisted  further 
in  undermining  his  resolution.  A  remark,  inter- 
jected by  the  Englishman,  urged  the  advisability  of 


A  NEW  ENVIRONMENT  109 

sacrificing  for  that  night  what  would  be,  at  best, 
a  questionable  freedom  and  independence  in  a  stuffy 
little  inn,  for  the  charming  thraldom  of  a  home. 

There  was  a  glint  behind  the  lazy  light  in  Sir 
Archibald's  eyes  as  he  voiced  this  sentiment;  the 
words,  well-modulated,  drawling,  were,  neverthe- 
less, in  the  least  challenging.  Bruce  regarded  the 
stolid,  emotionless  face  an  instant ;  then,  with  a  faint 
smile,  acquiesced.  So,  willy-nilly,  not  long  after  he 
found  himself  carried  off,  Mr.  Wood's  guest,  and 
Mr.  Bolger,  who  had  both  heard  and  seen,  stared 
after  the  young  man  when  he  had  really  gone  or 
been  whisked  away. 

It  may  be  the  detective  reflected  at  the  moment 
on  the  mockery  of  fate;  the  irony  of  circumstances. 
Here  was  the  mauvais  sujet  of  his  investigations  set 
on  the  pedestal  of  a  Hector!  It  constituted  a  new 
page  in  his  experiences ;  anger,  and  chagrin  mingled 
in  his  emotions.  He,  too,  took  his  departure;  he 
had  no  further  interest  in  the  pearls  that  night. 
They  were  safe;  the  garden  party  was  practically 
over;  this  little  contretemps  had  taken  the  edge  off 
further  merry-making. 

Chatfield   Bruce,   between   Miss  Wood  and   her 


no  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

father  on  the  rear  seat  of  the  car,  was  whirled  on. 
He  said  nothing,  nor  did  they,  after  a  few  desultory 
remarks,  speak ;  a  tacit  silence  seemed  to  have  taken 
possession  of  them.  In  front,  the  forms  of  Sir 
Archibald  and  his  secretary,  in  the  vague  light, 
wavered  this  way  and  that,  like  shadows.  The 
Englishman  and  Senor  Caglioni  were,  also,  in  either 
quiescent  or  reflective  moods;  the  latest,  unlooked- 
for  member  of  the  party  might  have  wondered 
what  thoughts  moved  them  during  that  journey. 

But  the  young  man  leaning  back,  seemed  oblivious 
of  them;  sitting  as  still  as  he  might;  mindful,  no 
doubt,  only  of  physical  pain.  Sometimes  Miss 
Wood's  blue  eyes  turned  furtively  to  regard  him  at 
her  side.  Once  Bruce's  injured  arm  was  thrown 
slightly  against  her  as  they  encountered  a  rut  the 
driver  negotiated  rather  too  quickly ;  the  young  man 
made  no  sound  to  indicate  the  ensuing  twinge  that 
must  have  shot  through  him.  But  she  saw  his  lips 
press  tightly;  noted  a  slight  movement  of  the  upper 
muscles  of  the  cheek.  An  ornament  on  her  breast 
stirred.  She  bent  forward  quickly  and  spoke  to 
the  driver;  in  clear,  well-controlled  tones  told  him 
to  go  more  slowly. 


A  NEW  ENVIRONMENT  in 

Whereupon  Bruce,  for  the  first  time,  swerved 
his  look  to  regard  her,  half -grate  fully,  half-depre- 
catorily.  She,  however,  had  turned  her  head 
from  him  and  was  gazing  from  the  car.  He  saw 
very  little  of  her  face;  but  he  felt,  as  before,  the 
flutter  of  her  veil.  All  the  strange,  unreal  journey 
—  which  lasted,  in  truth,  but  a  little  while  —  he  was 
aware  of  that.  Out  of  the  darkness  and  the  night, 
amid  acute  sense  of  pain,  he  had  continued  con- 
scious of  the  fine  silk  now  flecking  his  cheek  like 
the  touch  of  a  butterfly;  then  whipping  faintly 
against  his  breast. 

A  few  more  jars,  slighter  ones  owing  to  the 
chauffeur's  caution,  a  turn  in  the  road  here,  another 
there,  and  the  car  drew  up.  As  Bruce  got  out  he 
was  dimly  aware  that  the  squall  passing  with  its 
fierce  patter  of  rain,  had  left  the  night  more  beau- 
tiful than  before.  Every  cloud,  every  convolution 
of  mist  had  been  driven  from  the  sky;  the  stars 
were  almost  too  bright. 

It  was  Sir  Archibald  who  assisted  Miss  Wood 
from  the  car;  she  went  toward  the  house  with  him 
and  the  secretary  and  waited  at  the  top  of  the  steps 
for  her  father  and  Mr.  Bruce.  Mr.  Wood  paused 


ii2  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

to  speak  to  the  chauffeur,  telling  him  to  go  down 
to  the  tavern  in  the  village  for  his  new  guest's  lug- 
gage, whereupon  the  latter  intervened.  It  was  late 
now,  he  observed  —  after  midnight;  landlord  and 
help  went  to  bed  early  in  these  country  inns,  but 
they  were  up  with  the  sun.  The  next  morning  the 
chauffeur  could  procure  for  him,  Bruce,  his  suit- 
case, all  he  had  brought  with  him;  he  would  not 
need  it  until  he  rose,  which  might  not  be  until  long 
after  the  barnyard  fowls. 

Mr.  Wood  listened  courteously  to  these  remarks 
and  then  bade  his  man  consider  them  his  instruc- 
tions. After  which  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  felici- 
tous phrase,  waved  Chatfield  Bruce  toward  the  open 
door  of  his  home. 

The  young  man,  however,  lingered  yet  a  mo- 
ment. While  speaking  about  the  baggage,  he  had 
glanced  about  him  as  if  to  convey  to  his  mind  an 
impression  of  the  outer  aspect  of  the  house,  spacious 
and  rambling,  and  the  grounds  surrounding  it.  He 
even  held  back  a  moment  longer  to  refer  now  to 
the  giant  trees  that  lined  the  roadway  through  which 
they  had  come.  Yes,  the  place  was  not  one  of  those 
newer  estates  being  created  on  every  hand;  Mr. 


A  NEW  ENVIRONMENT  113 

Wood  who  loved  the  old  house  and  gardens  for 
their  associations  answered  warmly. 

Sir  Archibald  remained  at  the  side  of  Marjorie 
Wood  as  the  two  men  ascended  the  steps ;  his  eyes, 
slightly  questioning,  rested  an  instant  on  Chatfield 
Bruce,  but  the  latter  did  not  seem  to  notice.  They 
entered  now  a  home  whose  interior  did  not  belie 
its  outward  appearance.  Rosewood,  of  the  early 
American  school,  adorned  the  two  front  lower 
apartments.  Chandeliers,  with  egg-like  crystals, 
threw  a  soft  luster  on  several  portraits,  one  or  two 
of  which,  in  the  flowing  attire  of  a  past  period, 
suggested  a  strong  family  resemblance  to  Marjorie 
Wood. 

Passing  on,  up  the  broad  staircase  leading  to  the 
second  story,  Mr.  Wood  showed  his  guest  into  a 
great  chamber  in  the  wing.  It  was  rather  remote, 
he  remarked,  throwing  open  the  glass  doors  leading 
to  a  veranda;  but  its  quietude  commended  it  for  a 
guest,  a  "  little  done  up  " ;  laying  momentarily  his 
hand  on  Brace's  shoulder.  He  would  send  at  once 
his  man  Simpson,  with  dressing-gown  and  other 
little  necessities.  If,  during  the  night,  his  guest 
needed  anything,  he  had  but  to  ring.  To  which 


H4          THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Mr.  Bruce  answered  he  did  not  anticipate  the  ne- 
cessity of  disturbing  the  household,  and  Mr.  Wood, 
with  a  few  last  friendly  words,  took  his  departure. 

The  young  man  seated  himself ;  waited.  On  the 
mantel  a  clock  ticked  loudly.  "  After  twelve !  " — 
"  after  twelve !  "  The  pendulum  seemed  to  beat  the 
words;  his  eyes  lowered  to  the  rug  on  the  floor. 
Simpson  was  slow  —  an  English  servant,  no  doubt. 
An  irregularity  in  the  hand-woven  stuff  at  his  feet 
held  his  glance.  Why  had  the  oriental  workman 
turned  this  one  detail  upside-down?  To  differen- 
tiate from  a  factory-fabric?  Or  through  mere 
childish  whimsicality? 

"  After  twelve  " — "  after  twelve  " —  A  loud  per- 
sistent little  clock,  it  had  a  very  pronounced  way 
of  telling  off  the  seconds.  How  rapidly  they  were 
passing!  Bruce  stirred;  some  one  rapped,  entered 
—  Simpson ! 

He  was  well-laden,  with  this  and  that  dangling 
on  one  arm,  and  a  vase  of  roses  held  to  him.  He 
laid  over  the  back  of  a  chair  the  articles  that 
dangled ;  "  Mr.  Wood's  compliments !  "  Placed  on 
a  table,  the  flowers ;  "  Miss  Wood's  compliments ! " 
That  is,  the  servant  hastened  to  add,  presumably 


A  NEW  ENVIRONMENT  115 

voicing  his  young  mistress'  words,  if  the  gentle- 
man didn't  mind  them  in  his  room;  some  people 
were  averse  to  sleeping  with  them. 

Mr.  Bruce  entertained  no  prejudice  of  the  kind. 
No ;  there  was  nothing  else  he  required ;  Simpson 
could  go.  Only,  a  last  injunction;  let  no  one  rap 
on  the  door  in  the  morning;  if  he,  Bruce,  could 
sleep  late,  he  wished  to.  Simpson  went.  The 
young  man  stepped  to  the  table,  bent  over  the 
flowers  and  breathed  deeply ;  then  suddenly  straight- 
ened. The  receding  footsteps  had  died  away;  he 
was  alone. 

But  was  he  ?  On  the  veranda  he  fancied  he  heard 
a  slight  noise  and  went  swiftly  to  the  long  glass 
doors  opening  upon  it.  Drawing  aside  the  curtains 
wThich  closed  behind  him,  he  stepped  out. 

Only  the  shadows  met  his  gaze ;  against  the  rail, 
a  branch,  swayed  by  the  wind,  grated.  It  was  that 
sound  he  had  heard;  his  eyes,  sweeping  along  the 
veranda,  striving  to  penetrate  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness, could  detect  no  human  form.  The  rain  had 
enhanced  the  fragrance  from  the  garden  below ;  the 
sweet  odor  of  her  flowers  seemed  augmented  an 
hundredfold;  to  assail  him  with  sense-drugging  per- 


ii6  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

fumes.  He  could  almost  forget  the  burning  sen- 
sation of  pain.  The  insect  tones  that  pierced  the 
air  were  as  shrill  as  those  in  the  spirit-haunted  for- 
ests of  the  Shoguns.  His  glance  swept  toward  the 
trees  confronting  him  now ;  he  looked  down  toward 
the  ground. 

His  next  move,  sudden,  unexpected,  that  of  one 
who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  some  hazardous 
course,  would  have  greatly  surprised  Mr.  Wood, 
or  his  daughter,  could  they  have  seen  it ;  two  other 
members  of  the  household,  perhaps,  would  not  have 
been  so  amazed. 

When  Chatfield  Bruce  was  shown  by  Mr.  Wood 
to  his  room,  Caglioni  and  Sir  Archibald,  after  wish- 
ing Miss  Wood  good  night,  passed  into  those  apart- 
ments reserved  for  their  accommodation  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall.  The  Englishman,  with  a  sig- 
nificant look  at  his  secretary,  left  the  door  of  his  sit- 
ting-room partly  ajar;  then  motioned  Caglioni  to  sit 
at  a  table,  commanding  a  view  of  the  door  of  the  dis- 
tant apartment  into  which  Bruce  had  been  ushered 
for  the  night  Bam  ford  himself  sank  into  a  chair, 
with  his  back  to  his  own  threshold  and  the  hall, 


A  NEW'  ENVIRONMENT  117 

lighted  a  cigar  and  bent  over  a  Chinese  checker- 
board of  many  squares,  that  lay  on  the  table. 

"  Tell  me  when  Mr.  Wood  comes  out,"  Sir  Archi- 
bald, apparently  engrossed  only  in  the  men  on  the 
board,  observed. 

It  was  a  game  he  and  his  secretary  often 
played  at  night  before  retiring,  even  to  the  wee 
hours,  a  complicated  pastime  invented  by  a  complex 
people.  But  this  evening  Sir  Archibald  and  Cag- 
lioni  —  who  had  now  slipped  into  a  business  suit  - 
made  but  a  pretense  of  engaging  in  a  battle  of  "  go." 
The  former  smoked  fast ;  his  big  fingers  toyed  only 
in  desultory  fashion  with  the  small  pieces.  They 
seemed  very  tiny,  diminutive  buttons  of  stone,  for 
his  large,  strong  hands ;  but  he  was  known  to  move 
them  with  unerring,  magic  precision;  one  or  two 
viceroys,  over  sour  "  champagne  "  in  a  tea-pot,  had, 
in  the  past,  confessed  the  Englishman's  victory. 

Mr.  Wood,  Caglioni  shortly  afterward  murmured, 
had  left  Mr.  Bruce's  room.  Simpson,  the  host's 
man,  would,  no  doubt,  soon  repair  thither,  Sir 
Archibald  in  a  low  voice  answered.  Meanwhile 
they  continued  to  wait;  talked  in  suppressed  tones. 

The  door  of  Caglioni's  room  commanded  a  view 


u8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

of  the  veranda?  Yes;  then  the  secretary  knew 
what  he  was  to  do;  must  hold  himself  in  readiness. 
It  was  really  fortunate  circumstances  had  compelled 
Bruce  to  come  here  to-night ;  but  what  did  the  other 
think  of  the  pearls?  abruptly. 

"Ma  foi!  Mr.  Goldberg  is  wise,"  Caglioni 
laughed  softly,  "a  veritable  Nathan  of  his  kind! 
The  multitude  gaze  and  admire.  His  daughter  gets 
all  the  credit  of  being  bedecked  like  a  duchess;  he 
rubs  his  hands,  and,  sapristi,  takes  no  risk." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Sir  Archibald  looked  up 
quickly. 

"  That  the  Midas  of  lower  Broadway  emulates 
the  example  of  the  noblesse  of  Park  Row,  or  Ken- 
sington ;  he  keeps  the  priceless  gems  under  lock  and 
key,  and  parades  for  the  ignorant  or  uninitiated  — 
He  finished  the  sentence  with  a  snap  of  the  fingers. 

Bam  ford,  although  not  prone  to  outward  signs 
of  emotion,  started  now.  He  forgot  the  pieces  on 
the  board  and  stared  ahead  through  waves  of  smoke. 

" Diable!  You  did  not  perceive?"  Caglioni's 
hand  waved  airily. 

The  other's  face  wore  a  strange  expression. 
"  Not  —  that !  "  he  said  slowly.  Then  the  hand 


A  NEW  ENVIRONMENT  119 

over  the  board  closed.  "  But  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  this  before?  " 

"When  you  were  with  Miss  Goldberg?  In  the 
automobile?"  Caglioni's  accents  were  furtively 
querulous.  "  Is  it  important?  " 

Sir  Archibald  did  not  answer  at  once.  "  You 
are  sure  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  I  ?  "  he  shrugged.  "  With  my  experience  ? 
Who  once  dealt  in  that  very  kind  of  merchandise? 
I  could  almost  tell  from  what  stream  in  the  Celestial 
Kingdom  those  substitutes  were  taken." 

Sir  Archibald  was  silent.  The  secretary  twitched 
nervously,  then  suddenly  stiffened.  "  The  man 
Simpson!"  he  half -whispered,  his  tones  tense,  his 
eyes  no  longer  bead-like,  but  glittering  like  those  of 
a  viper.  "  He  is  going  in." 

"  He  will  soon  come  out.     And  then  — " 

Caglioni  glided  into  the  room  adjoining.  Sir 
Archibald  leaned  back  as  if  surveying  a  strategic 
arrangement  of  the  bits  of  stone  on  the  board. 
Simpson  at  length  came  down  the  hall.  The  Eng- 
lishman closed  his  door  leading  to  it,  crossed  to  the 
secretary's  chamber  and  entered.  The  apartment 
was  vacant.  Sir  Archibald  looked  out  upon  the  ve- 


120  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

randa;  that,  too,  was  now  deserted.  He  fancied 
he  saw  something  dark  below,  gliding  toward,  then 
into  the  forest,  but  was  not  sure.  The  leaves,  wet 
with  rain,  glistened  between;  the  cigar  went  out  in 
his  hand  as  his  eyes  continued  to  scrutinize  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    NIGHT    GUEST 

CHATFIELD  BRUCE' S  procedure  that  would 
have  awakened  the  surprise  of  Mr.  Wood 
had  he  witnessed  it,  consisted  of  a  series  of  odd 
acts.  Reentering  quickly  his  room,  the  young  man 
shot  the  bolt  of  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  then 
stepped  to  the  doors  opening  on  to  the  veranda. 
A  key  on  the  inside  of  one  of  them  he  took  out, 
placed  it  on  the  outside,  and  was  about  once  more 
to  leave  the  chamber,  when  he  paused. 

His  glance  swerved  involuntarily  back ;  some  new 
thought  seemed  to  move  him.  Crossing  the  apart- 
ment again,  he  pushed  the  bolt  from  the  detaining 
clasp,  fastened  that  door  with  the  key  and  then 
slipped  the  latter  into  his  pocket.  After  which, 
adjusting  the  curtains  carefully  before  the  double 
glass  doors,  so  that  no  one  without  could  see  in, 
he  returned  to  the  balcony,  drew  those  doors  to, 
locked  them,  and  kept  possession  of  that  key  also. 

121 


122  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

At  one  end  of  the  upper  veranda  was  a  heavy 
trelliswork  which  he  had  foreseen  might  serve  his 
purpose.  Now  by  its  aid,  he  let  himself  down  from 
the  balcony  to  the  ground.  It  was  not  easy  to  do 
so;  but  no  other  course  remained.  He  had  to  do 
it,  and  quickly;  though  he  experienced  a  con- 
sciousness of  taxing  his  less  injured,  left  hand,  al- 
most beyond  endurance.  He  endeavored,  however, 
to  set  aside  the  pain  with  a  kind  of  Manchu  forti- 
tude, to  call  whimsically  to  mind  at  the  moment  a 
far-eastern  stoicism.  But  a  well-defined  ego  in  him 
repudiated,  perhaps  a  little  to  his  surprise,  a  philoso- 
phy of  the  melting-pot;  that  nothing  matters  very 
much.  He  had  not  lost  his  capacity  to  feel. 

In  spite  of  the  danger  and  tenseness  of  the  mo- 
ment, he  could  smile  at  his  thoughts;  he  was  still 
very  young;  the  Old  East  had  not  aged  him;  the 
ingenuousness  of  the  West  yet  vibrated  in  his  being. 
He  glanced  toward  a  lighted  curtain  at  the  side  of 
the  house.  Was  it  fancy,  or  had  he  detected  for  an 
instant  the  silhouette  of  a  girl's  head  and  shoulders 
passing  thereon,  the  brief  uplifting  of  an  arm? 
Now  was  the  curtain  only  blank ;  a  dull  yellow ! 

One  self  of  him  seemed  to  crave  no  more  than  the 


A  NIGHT  GUEST  123 

privilege  of  standing  there;  to  dream  —  sonnet- 
fashion,  or  in  madrigals !  Another  self,  acting  sub- 
consciously, it  may  be,  made  him  vividly  aware  of 
a  footstep  —  it  was  not  a  branch  this  time !  —  on 
the  veranda  above.  The  sound  acted  like  a  stimu- 
lating tonic  to  that  second  self,  and  transformed 
him  into  life  and  action.  With  senses  alert,  he 
moved  swiftly  from  the  house. 

The  earth  was  wet,  soggy ;  but,  though  he  stepped 
with  the  lightness  of  a  forest  creature,  on  soft  sod- 
den leaves,  the  twigs  on  the  ground  broke  be- 
neath him;  might  have  been  heard  by  others,  very 
attentive  at  the  moment;  but  he  did  not  look  back. 
Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have  noticed  the  yellow 
curtain  he  had  regarded,  thrust  aside  a  little,  in  the 
thin  slant  of  light,  a  girl's  face  gazing  out  an  in- 
stant. Then  the  curtain  fell  back  into  place;  the 
white  gleam  went;  the  succeeding  yellow,  too. 

Bruce  plunged  into  the  darkness,  but  he  knew 
whither  he  was  going.  Through  interspaces  in  the 
foliage,  the  stars  held  him  to  his  course.  To  all 
appearances  he  had  been  able  to  leave  the  house 
without  attracting  attention.  Stopping  many  times, 
he  could  hear  no  one  coming  after  him;  caught  only 


124  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

those  murmurings  like  a  deep  pulsation  from  the 
heart  of  the  woodland.  He  did  not,  however,  tell 
himself  with  certainty  his  absence  would  not  be 
noticed,  nor  even  that  he  would  escape  being  fol- 
lowed. He  did  not  underestimate  a  certain  wake- 
fulness  and  watchfulness  under  the  circumstances 
on  Sir  Archibald's  part.  Bruce  knew  well  that  in- 
dividual's reputation  for  alertness  and  persistency. 
Sir  Archibald,  in  his  capacity  as  private  agent  and 
adviser  of  his  majesty's  government  in  the  Far  East, 
displayed  the  same  traits  that  made  him  renowned 
as  a  pursuer  of  big  game.  He  would  wait  for 
hours,  days,  on  his  platform  for  a  tiger,  knew  how 
to  entice  what  he  wished  to  bring  down,  beneath 
his  stand,  or  how  to  get  others  to  "  drive  "  for  him 
—  quick,  agile  ones,  like  Caglioni!  Where  had 
Bruce  seen  the  secretary?  A  fugitive  resemblance 
he  had  felt  earlier  in  the  evening  again  played  hide- 
and-seek  in  the  young  man's  brain.  Even  in  this 
moment  of  excitation,  he  found  himself  trying  to  re- 
call under  what  possible  circumstances  they  could 
have  met  before  that  night. 

He  continued  to  move  on.     A  lack  of  evidence  he 
was  followed  did  not  altogether  serve  to  reassure 


A  NIGHT  GUEST  125 

him  on  that  score.  Of  course,  the  possibility  ex- 
isted of  the  secretary's  being  even  closer  than  he 
thought ;  the  slant  eyes,  with  their  suggestion  of  an 
ancestry,  not  altogether  Portuguese,  recalled  to  him 
certain  wonder-tales  of  the  East;  of  mysterious, 
half-human  creatures,  possessing  the  power  to  track 
others,  dog-humans,  themselves  always  unseen;  un- 
heard. 

Absurd  superstition!  Bruce  dismissed  the  phan- 
tasy. He  paused  once  more,  at  the  side  wall  of 
the  estate  which  he  had  now  reached,  to  listen. 
Time  was  precious;  nevertheless,  he  allowed  a  min- 
ute or  two  to  pass  thus.  Leaning  against  the  damp 
stone,  he  caught  only  the  tinkle,  tinkle  of  the  rain- 
drops, loosened  from  the  leaves  by  the  wind;  the 
hardly  audible  pit-a-pat  of  some  tiny  creature  he 
had  himself,  most  likely,  disturbed.  Then  lifting 
his  arms  high,  he  reached  up  to  grasp  the  top  of 
the  wall,  of  modern  construction,  replacing  the 
hedge  at  this  side  of  the  estate.  I 

Not  long  afterward,  Bruce  stood  again  on  the 
verge  of  the  wooded  park  near  the  Goldberg  man- 
sion. Dark  and  deserted  now  were  the  grounds. 
Against  the  sky  the  structure  loomed,  with  few 


126  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

lights  showing  in  its  windows.  From  it,  in  the 
deep  gloom,  all  newness  seemed  to  have  vanished; 
it  held  itself  in  portentous  fashion  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  like  a  feudal  place  that  had  a  history. 

A  moment  Bruce  looked  attentively  around  him, 
then  glided  silently  into  the  dim  wood.  He  re- 
mained there  for  some  time,  lost  to  sight,  during 
which  a  figure  looked  furtively  out  from  a  black 
corner  of  the  house  in  the  direction  he  himself  had 
gone. 

The  moments  went  by.  Did  the  person,  lurking, 
watching,  become  impatient?  Flat  on  the  grass, 
he  began  to  draw  himself  forward,  without  sound; 
every  muscle  seemed  trained  for  the  sinuous  move- 
ment. In  the  shadow  of  the  platform  he  paused. 
Still  he  who  had  vanished  into  the  wood  did  not 
reappear.  How  long  it  took  him  for  what  he  had 
to  do!  The  man  on  the  grass  again  continued  his 
progress  forward,  with  singular  swiftness  over  the 
more  open  places,  where  the  starlight  showed  him, 
a  faint  blotch  on  the  earth.  At  length,  reaching 
a  shaded  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  obscure  fringe, 
he  half-raised  himself;  another  stood  suddenly  at 
his  side. 


A  NIGHT  GUEST  127 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  Bruce  asked 
harshly.  "  Do  you  know  the  risk  ?  You  did  what 
you  should,"  glancing  over  his  shoulder  toward 
the  shaded  park.  "  Why  overdo  your  task  ?  " 

"  I  came,  illustrious  one,"  answered  the  man  in 
Cantonese  dialect,  sitting  now  on  his  heels,  "  to 
warn!  Against  the  English  Elephant,  here  to- 
night ;  he  who  is  with  him,  the  brown  fox !  As  the 
illustrious  one  knows,  foxes  are  not  good,  and  the 
Elephant  is  the  enemy  of  the  Nine-times-Nine ;  in 
my  country,  and  in  India,  the  lands  of  great 
Buddha." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  your  Nine-times-Nine," 
came  in  crisp  tones  from  the  young  man,  "  or  any 
other  of  your  societies?  " 

"  They  have  to  do  with  the  illustrious  one," 
bending  humbly  to  the  earth.  "  They  never  for- 
get." 

"  It  seems,  then,"  ironically,  "  I  have  vassals  un- 
told for  ever?" 

"  The  master  can  not  escape  gratitude." 

"  Any  more  than  the  illustrious  ghosts,  the  per- 
petual, eulogistic  tablets!" 

"It    is   written!"    phlegmatically.     "When   the 


128  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

master,  on  the  river  of  mist,  that  night  in  the  waning 
evil  of  the  moon,  stepped  between  the  traitor-as- 
sassin and  my  father,  the  object  of  his  venge- 
ance — " 

"  Ah !  "  Bruce's  eyes  became  on  a  sudden  very 
keen  and  bright;  he  breathed  deep,  as  if  exhilarated. 
"  Did  a  beard  then  so  blind  me?  "  he  murmured  to 
himself.  "And  a  few  years?  That  I  could  not 
recognize,  even  though  I  had  felt  the  teeth  —  once  ? 
Here!  Tell  me,  Ting's  younger  brother,"  he  said 
aloud,  gaily,  turning  to  the  Oriental,  "  do  foxes  like 
rabbits  ?  "  The  other  pondered,  as  seeking  in  vain 
the  answer  to  a  parable.  The  young  man  did  not 
wait  for  him  to  find  a  solution,  but  shifted  with 
sudden  swiftness  the  talk.  "  And  it  was  the  mere 
sight  of  the  Elephant,"  in  accents,  half -scoffing, 
"  that  caused  you  to  forget  yourself  and  blunder 
like  a  child,  at  the  table,  to-night!  Never  mind, 
though !  "  with  an  odd  laugh.  "  Mishaps  some- 
times serve." 

"  It  was  seeing  him  suddenly,  over  your  shoul- 
der! The  enemy  of  our  people!  Why  should  he 
have  come,  and  his  servant,  the  unknown  fox? 
Unless  they  suspected;  knew!  I  did  not  think  the 


A  NIGHT  GUEST  129 

illustrious  one  would  appear  at  the  wood  to-night, 
according  to  the  compact ;  although  I  obeyed ! 
After  leaving  to-night  as  he  did !  After  what  hap- 
pened when  the  flame  gods  were  angry !  " 

"  Hush !  "  Bruce  murmured  a  sound ;  his  eyes 
had  bent  toward  the  house,  to  a  faintly  lighted 
window  where  a  dim  figure  seemed  standing.  A 
woman?  Yes;  robed  in  white! 

"  The  witch-one ;  she  who  has  stolen  the  eyes  of 
the  sacred  green !  "  A  sibilant  whisper  came  from 
the  grass;  Bruce  made  a  motion. 

A  spell  of  silence  followed.  The  young  man  con- 
tinued to  gaze  toward  the  structure.  Those  guard- 
ian stone  creatures,  its  gargoyles,  seemed  to  grin; 
to  gibe,  into  the  night.  The  clear  intonation  of  a 
tiny  fountain  sounded  mockingly;  too  crystalline, 
with  its  high  musical  pitch !  The  man  in  the  grass, 
squat,  like  one  of  the  frogs  on  the  brim  of  the 
water's  marble  basin,  suddenly  shifted;  his  eyes 
burned. 

"  There  is  some  one  near,  illustrious  one !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  without  turning  his  look 
from  the  house. 

"  The  insects  yonder  were  singing  together." 


1 30  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Bah !  "  immovably.  "  Insects  sometimes  stop 
singing." 

"  Several  great  moths  flew  up,  all  together,  from 
a  small  space  of  shadow." 

"  An  ideal  night  for  moths  to  fly." 

"  These  saw,  it  may  be,  a  brown  fox." 

Bruce's  hand  went  swiftly  down  to  the  shoulder 
of  the  crouching  one.  "  What  does  it  — "  He 
suppressed  an  exclamation;  the  fingers  of  his  left 
hand  bit  into  the  hard  flesh  of  the  Oriental  through 
the  silky  material  that  covered  him.  "  What  — " 

"  It  sounded  like  a  woman." 

"You,  too,  heard,  then?"  As  he  spoke,  a  light 
gleamed  in  another  window. 

"  The  witch-one  is  no  longer  there.  It  was  she 
who  called  out — " 

"But  why?" 

A  strange,  questioning  look  shone  from  Bruce's 
gaze;  between  him  and  the  house,  a  leaf  fluttered, 
like  a  black  butterfly,  to  the  earth. 

"Why?"  he  repeated.  Suddenly  the  muscles 
beneath  his  hand  stiffened ;  the  man's  head  had  shot 
forward.  In  the  house  something  startling,  unex- 
pected was  happening;  had  happened. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    SHIFT    OF    HAZARDS 

THE  festivities  over,  at  the  mansion  on  the  hill, 
Mr.  Goldberg  put  away  the  pearl-rope  care- 
fully. The  guests,  staying  in  the  house,  had  gone  to 
their  rooms ;  he,  apparently,  was  the  last  to  retire. 
He  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a  last  glance  at 
the  delicate-textured  spheres  before  allowing  them 
to  slide,  in  all  their  translucent  beauty,  to  the  little 
pink  cotton  nest  in  one  of  the  drawers  in  his  new 
safe.  Then  he  closed  the  steel  door,  and  turned  the 
knob  to  throw  off  the  combination  and  slid  over  it 
the  concealing  oak  paneling,  a  device  of  his  archi- 
tect. 

A  moment  the  proprietor  of  Comscot  house  stood 
in  the  dim  light  and  his  thoughts  seemed  pleasant. 
His  sigh  was  not  a  dolorous  one ;  the  affair  had  been 
a  great  success.  He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  trou- 
sers pockets ;  started  to  whistle  Caro  Nome  —  he 
had  an  ear  for  Italian  opera  —  but  stopped.  These 


132  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

exuberances  of  a  latent  artistic  soul  would  some- 
times sweep  over  him.  He  suppressed  them  now, 
and  was  about  to  leave  the  anteroom,  but  paused. 

Beneath  the  door  of  the  chamber  beyond  shone 
a  light.  This  apartment,  a  private  sitting-room 
of  the  superbly  decorated  Goldberg  suite,  was  occu- 
pied, for  the  time  being,  because  of  the  press  of 
visitors,  by  one  of  them. 

"  Not  to  bed  yet,  Miss  Flossie?  "  the  host  buoy- 
antly called  out. 

She  answered,  he  couldn't  quite  hear  what,  for 
the  door  was  heavy  mahogany ;  then,  stepping  in  an 
opposite  direction,  he  passed  through  a  bath-room, 
closing  the  door  behind  him,  into  his  own  sleeping 
apartment.  It  was  big,  lonesome-looking;  he  com- 
menced to  feel  sleepy.  Until  now  the  wine  had 
stimulated  him,  fanned  his  capacity  for  pleasure 
and  made  him  more  keenly  observant.  This  agree- 
able effect,  however,  seemed  slowly  wearing  away : 
a  desire  to  sink  unreservedly  ir^o  the  arms  of 
Morpheus  began  to  succeed  it.  He  went  to  bed 
and  slumbered  heavily. 

In  her  room  Miss  Flossie  still  sat  up;  her  hair 
unbound,  hung  around  her.  She  was  seated  at  a 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  133 

table,  her  chin  resting  on  her  bared  arm ;  before  her, 
one  or  two  papers  and  a  photograph.  Her  brows 
were  drawn;  she  stared  ahead  of  her;  then  down. 

The  paper  engrossing  her  attention  at  the  instant, 
was  the  anonymous  note  Mr.  Goldberg  had  re- 
ceived. She  had  laughingly  asked  the  host's  daugh- 
ter to  get  it  for  her,  to  look  at;  she,  Flossie,  con- 
fessed lightly  to  all  the  curiosity  of  her  sex.  The 
other  had  complied ;  placed  the  paper  in  her  guest's 
rosy  palm,  and  the  latter  had  forgotten  as  yet  to 
return  it. 

She  held  the  paper  now  to  the  light;  compared 
it  with  another  on  the  table  containing  one  or  two 
crude  drawings  —  that  might  have  been  construed 
as  a  camel  and  a  needle's  eye.  Then  she  put  down 
the  host's  message  and  looked  long  at  the  other 
white  sheet  in  her  hand.  As  she  did  so  her  eye  kin- 
dled ;  something  on  it  seemed  to  fascinate  her  gaze 
—  an  indentation  of  a  circle,  with  tiny  keen  points 
set  about  it,  above  a  straight  line,  faint  to  the  un- 
aided vision,  but  plainly  discernible  through  the 
strong  glass  she  now  regarded  it  with.  That  circle 
and  the  straight  line  had  been  made  inadvei  tently 
by  some  one  leaning  slightly  on  the  paper.  The 


i34  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

impress  was  that  of  a  ring  she  knew;  and  it  be- 
longed to  Chatfield  Bruce.  She  had  often  seen  it 
on  his  finger  —  indeed,  had  asked  what  the  symbol 
meant  and  he  had  told  her,  where  he  had  got  it  and 
all  it  portended. 

A  slight  clue,  perhaps,  very  slight ;  but  men  had 
been  convicted  on  less  evidence.  She  felt  certain 
the  sharp  edges  of  the  odd,  most  unusual  design 
of  the  ring  would  fit  absolutely  that  indentation,  and 
the  knowledge  thrilled  her  with  malicious  joy  and 
triumph.  She  allowed  her  gaze  to  linger  —  as  if 
she  had  not  studied  the  paper  so  often  before !  And 
a  few  perfunctory  little  letters  that  lay  in  front  of 
her  in  Chatfield  Bruce's  hand;  a  photograph  of 
him! 

Her  face  flushed  as  she  thought  how  she  had  pro- 
cured the  last.  A  snap-shot  by  a  newspaper  man,, 
showing  Mr.  Bruce,  in  an  amateur  athletic  contest, 
she  had  begged,  on  some  pretext  or  other,  from  the 
editor  to  whom  she  surreptitiously  furnished  occa- 
sional spicy  society  items.  Ah,  she  had  been  mad, 
mad!  Was  she  so  still? 

This  photograph  now  alone  held  her,  to  the  ex- 
clusion, even,  of  the  more  insignificant  detail  her 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  135 

eyes,  like  a  cat's,  had,  a  moment  before,  sharpened 
upon.  A  certain  dreaminess  replaced  the  hard 
light ;  there  were  times  when  she  did  not  know  her- 
self, moments  such  as  these!  She  looked  at  the 
casual  likeness  of  a  lithe,  splendid  figure,  straight  as 
an  Indian's,  a  masculine  profile  Phidias  might  have 
longed  to  copy,  lips,  fine,  expressive  of  determina- 
tion, eyes  alight  with  one  purpose  —  to  win.  And 
he  had  won  —  though  he  had  seemed  to  care  so 
little,  afterward!  His  gaze,  then,  wore  that  illusive, 
indifferent  light  she  had  become  so  accustomed  to, 
even  when  she  had  turned  in  her  most  engaging 
manner  to  him  —  a  light,  as  clear  but  frostily  dis- 
tant as  that  of  a  star. 

A  star !  She  could  laugh  to  herself  mockingly. 
Her  eyes  sought  fiercely,  once  more,  the  paper  she 
had  taken  from  the  desk  where  Mr.  Page,  her  uncle, 
had  secreted  it.  She  brought  down  her  hand;  her 
red  lips  pressed  closely ;  one  of  her  white  shoulders, 
partly  seen,  gleamed  like  hard  marble.  She  re- 
garded the  definite  evidence  on  the  paper  —  for  her 
to  make  use  of  some  day  as  she  saw  fit  or  not. 
The  alternative  always  came;  she  wondered  why. 
Was  she  a  little  afraid  of  him?  What  nonsense! 


136  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Yet  she  had  read  of  women  who  served,  docilely 
enough,  those  harsh  to  them;  she  was  not  of  that 
kind,  however.  Oh,  no!  She  but  held  her  hand 
and  waited.  For  what?  Rising  suddenly,  she 
stepped  to  the  window.  She  wanted  to  breathe 
more  freely.  She  tore  back  the  curtain  and  looked 
out  into  the  night. 

How  lightly  had  he  parried  with  her  that  even- 
ing and  turned  her  words !  Bolger  —  who  was 
Bolger,  indeed?  As  if  he  had  not  reason  to  know! 
But  though  Bruce  had  held  her  and  her  words  and 
what  lay  beneath  them,  with  an  indifference  almost 
scornful,  how  swiftly  he  had  turned  to  another 
when  danger  befell  her,  surmounted  it,  beat  it  out, 
regardless  of  injury  to  himself,  or  pain.  Again 
she  seemed  to  see  him  as  she  had  seen  him  then ; 
and  before,  in  the  dance! 

With  Marjorie  Wood!  The  two  had  moved  as 
if  oblivious  to  the  rest  of  the  world!  Did  she, 
Flossie  Burke,  not  know;  could  she  not  divine?  It 
was  not  hard  to  read  the  swift  new  interest  in  his 
glance,  something  stronger,  more  sedulous,  than 
she  had  ever  beheld  there  before,  that  seemed,  as 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  137 

he  held  the  girl's  slender  form  to  him,  to  sweep 
down  from  the  crown  of  dark  hair  dreamily,  ten- 
derly, over  the  beautiful,  young  face. 

For  Miss  Wood  luas  beautiful  —  Miss  Flossie 
reluctantly  conceded  it;  but  men  had  also  acknowl- 
edged her  own  charms.  She  had  had  but  a  short 
time  before  a  circle  around  her;  he,  however,  had 
not  been  of  them.  He  had  forgotten  even  to  ask 
her  to  dance ;  he  had  preferred  to  stand  off  there, 
near  the  park,  with  Miss  Wood.  He  had  hardly 
known  the  young  girl  before  that  night,  yet  they 
had  walked  away,  as  if  accustomed  to  starlight  talk 
and  confidences. 

It  was  different  from  the  conversation  that  even- 
ing between  him  and  herself.  Once  more  she 
seemed  to  hear  the  mocking  laughter  of  his  words, 
when  first  the  storm  had  swept  down  on  them;  that 
such  a  night  as  this,  he  who  had  designs  on  the 
pearls  would  find  to  his  liking  for  his  nefarious 
purpose.  The  sentence  or  what  it  implied,  recurred 
to  her  again  and  again,  and  brought  more  sharply 
to  mind  the  precious  ornaments.  She,  Flossie,  had 
been  one  of  the  last  that  night  to  look  on  them, 


138  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

just  before  Miss  Goldberg,  about  to  retire,  had  re- 
luctantly taken  the  pearls  from  her  neck,  to  give 
them  to  her  father.     Who  had  put  them  away  - 
where  ? 

Miss  Burke  looked  suddenly  over  her  shoulder; 
a  sound  had  caused  her  to  turn.  Was  it  in  the  great 
hall  or  the  anteroom  adjoining?  A  door,  she  fan- 
cied, had  opened,  then  closed  softly,  as  if  some  one 
had  come  into  the  anteroom  from  the  hall.  The 
host?  He  had  but  a  short  time  before  called  out  to 
her  and  retired.  Of  course  it  could  not  be  Mr. 
Goldberg ;  yet  it  must  be.  She  remembered  that  the 
door  from  the  anteroom  to  the  hall  was  always  kept 
locked ;  she  had  inadvertently  tried  it  once  or  twice. 
Then,  how  could  any  one  have  come  in,  that  way, 
unless  — 

She  felt  a  sudden  nervous  excitement;  her  mood 
had  been  tense;  she  was  in  a  highly  imaginative 
state.  Those  last  words  of  Chatfield  Bruce  con- 
tinued to  move  trippingly  through  her  brain ;  they 
would  not  leave  her.  They  seemed  to  say,  locked 
doors  would  open  readily  to  some  people,  deeply 
skilled,  able  to  move  silently,  stealthily ! 

She   was   positive   she   heard    a   sound   now   of 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  139 

•some  one  stirring  softly.  Her  heart  beat  faster. 
Was  it  —  could  lie  have  come  back  ?  Impossible ! 
And  yet  there  was  a  glamour  about  him  who  had 
taken  the  Morrow  emeralds,  the  Page  bonds,  and 
many  other  valuables!  Had  he  not  achieved  the 
seemingly  impossible  before  that  night ;  a  number  of 
times?  To  return  thus  strangely,  madly,  to  the 
Goldberg  house,  would  be  in  keeping  with  one  as 
temerarious  and  devil-may-care  as  he  was  clever 
and  ingenious.  She  endeavored  to  dismiss  the 
fancy,  when  an  indubitable  faint  clicking  in  the  next 
room  held  her. 

She  trembled  but  not  altogether  with  fear,  then 
moved,  still  as  a  ghost,  from  her  window  toward  the 
door  to  the  anteroom ;  stood  near  it,  motionless,  her 
hand  to  her  breast.  Beneath  her  fingers  came  a 
wilder  throbbing  now;  her  fancy  conveyed  the  pic- 
ture to  her  mind.  That  faint  clicking  she  had 
dimly  caught  before,  when  Mr.  Goldberg  had  been 
in  the  anteroom  —  she  divined  now  what  it  meant. 
Of  course,  Mr.  Goldberg  would  have  prepared  a 
secure  place  for  the  pearls;  and,  where  else,  nat- 
urally, than  near  his  own  bedroom? 

In  a   safe,   presumably;  not  visible  to  the  eye! 


HO  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

When  she  had  inspected  that  little  room  with  the 
rest  of  the  big  house,  no  steel  strong-box  was  vis- 
ible ;  but  Flossie  knew  that  people,  who  had  in  their 
residences  these  awkward  receptacles,  took  the 
pains  to  have  them  set  in  somewhere,  out  of  sight, 
if  not,  as  a  matter  of  precaution,  then  because  bulky 
steel  safes  are  not  ornamental  and  can  not  be  made 
to  harmonize  with  Louis-Quinze  or  Seize  furniture. 

Click!  In  the  stillness,  straining  to  listen,  she 
still  was  aware  of  the  persistent  little  sound,  no 
louder  than  beads  dropped,  one  by  one,  to  the  floor. 
At  the  same  time,  a  tiny  streak  of  light  held  her. 
It  came  from  the  key-hole.  Dropping  to  her  knees, 
she  looked  through  the  small  aperture.  At  first, 
she  saw  nothing;  then  —  yes!  —  a  hand  moving  on 
a  shiny  knob.  She  breathed  quickly.  That  hand  * 

It  was  distinct,  unmistakably  revealed  to  her. 
And  it  was  not  Mr.  Goldberg's  hand,  covered  with 
black  hair ;  he  had  not  returned  to  the  room  then  — • 
nor  was  it  Chatfield  Bruce's;  the  knowledge  came 
to  her  with  startling  force.  She  had  been  so  cer- 
tain of  the  identity  of  the  intruder,  had  almost 
welcomed  her  own  perspicacity  which  had  led  her 
thus  to  place  him.  And  now  to  learn  —  was  she 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  141 

disappointed  at  this  perversion  of  what  she  had  ex- 
pected ? 

She  continued  to  look.  Bruce's  long,  shapely 
fingers  were  most  unlike  these  well-kept,  but  short 
ones,  that  swung  now,  apparently,  a  safe  door  open; 
held,  an  instant  later,  something  white  dangling 
from  them !  She  tried  to  find  her  voice,  and  was 
surprised  she  could  not  at  first.  She  endeavored  to 
rise,  but  her  knees  seemed  unaccountably  weak. 
She  was  not  exactly  frightened.  What  then? 

The  hand  passed  from  her  gaze;  she  found  her- 
self, thereupon,  suddenly  able  to  call  out  in  a  voice 
unlike  her  own,  faintly,  louder.  Whoever  the  in- 
truder, she  heard  him  flee;  where  he  went,  she 
could  not  tell. 

Another,  however,  not  in  the  house,  but  in  the 
garden  below,  near  the  wooded  park,  witnessed  the 
sequence.  Chatfield  Bruce,  with  odd  wonder  and 
quizzical  interest,  saw  the  intruder  take  his  depar- 
ture. It  was  like  an  unexpected  scene  in  a  play ; 
he,  Bruce,  spectator  or  critic,  but  gazed  on.  The 
man's  form  passed  like  a  shadow  down  one  of  the 
great  stone  pillars;  at  the  same  time  he  touched 


142  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  ground,  the  spacious  front  room  became 
flooded  with  light.  A  sound  of  distant  voices, 
perturbed,  excited,  was  wafted  toward  Bruce  and 
.his  companion;  between  long  French  curtains,  a 
woman's  hair  waved  and  flashed  like  the  yel- 
low wheat-tops  blown  by  the  wind.  Bright  colors 
came  and  went,  vague  gleamings  of  dressing-gowns 
and  garments  hastily  assumed. 

"  The  pearls !  "  Bruce  whispered.  There  was 
irony  in  his  eyes ;  his  voice  thrilled.  "  Some  un- 
scrupulous person  has  inconsiderately  learned  of  the 
secret  hiding-place,  the  combination  of  the  strong- 
box." 

The  Oriental's  face,  uplifted  to  him  who  spoke, 
expressed  blankness;  the  characteristic  drooping  lip 
seemed  to  hang  more  loosely. 

"  You  mean  — "  he  stammered. 

The  young  man  did  not  answer.  A  lower  door  of 
the  house  had  suddenly  slammed.  He  could  hear 
I  now,  plainly,  the  expected  words  always  called  forth 
by  the  circumstances,  and  saw  him  to  whom  they 
applied  in  the  shadow  of  the  dwelling,  moving  from 
bush  to  bush,  at  right  angles  from  where  they 
stood,  toward  the  road  where  it  swung  down  in 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  143 

the  direction  of  the  village.  Close  at  hand,  some 
one  who  had  been  hiding  to  watch  Bruce  and  his 
companion,  moved  involuntarily  forward  a  little 
into  the  starlight. 

"  Quick ! "  The  young  man's  tones  abruptly 
sharpened.  "  Back !  "  He  thrust  the  Chinaman 
from  him,  one  poignant  thought  assailing  him.  He 
—  they  —  must  needs  beware  lest  they,  too,  become 
actors  in  the  new  strange  drama. 

The  Oriental  vanished  with  wondrous  celerity; 
Bruce,  himself,  wheeled.  About  to  spring  toward 
the  wooded  park,  he  felt  himself  suddenly  grasped; 
lithe,  strangling  arms  wound  around  him.  A  hot 
breath  swept  his  cheek;  near  his  ear  a  shrill,  pant- 
ing voice,  Caglioni's,  called  out  loudly :  "  This 
way !  —  He  is  here !  " 

Bruce  tried  to  shake  himself  free,  but  in  vain. 
He  found  himself  at  a  great  disadvantage,  with  this, 
his  old  enemy;  he  had  walked,  as  it  were,  like  a 
mouse  into  a  trap.  If  he  were  taken  now  —  what 
a  grim  conclusion!  The  gods  would  prove  them- 
selves indeed  derisive.  His  eyes  flashed  in  the 
darkness ;  there  seemed  nothing  whimsical  in  the 
comedy  now.  His  right  hand  was  of  no  assistance 


144  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

to  him;  the  acute  realization  of  being  overpowered, 
that  the  end  was  not  far,  smote  him,  when  as  a 
phantasmagoria  of  something  that  has  been  comes 
to  a  drowning  man,  he  seemed  transported  back  into 
a  garden  in  ancient  Kyoto.  He  stood  near  the  mat- 
tings of  fine  bamboo  fiber  not  far  from  the  tinkling 
fountain  and  saw,  in  a  dream,  the  mountains,  the 
sacred  edifices,  a  setting  for  the  strange  little  man, 
no  bigger  than  a  boy,  their  ju-jitsu  instructor. 

Slap !  Slap !  He  heard  the  forms  fall ;  strike  limp, 
with  muscles  relaxed,  the  matting.  Then  he  ob- 
served the  little  master  tie  to  his  side  an  arm,  and 
one  of  the  pupils  essay  to  overthrow  him.  With 
what  result  ?  That  the  former  suddenly  found  him- 
self as  one  who  steps  from  the  sunlight  into  the  in- 
ner sanctuary  of  the  lacquered  Buddha  and  becomes 
lost  in  darkness;  for  the  moment  had  the  flow  of  his 
life  been  stopped.  By  only  one  of  many  devices; 
but  what  a  trick ! 

The  fingers  of  Bruce's  free  hand  reached  out, 
supple,  terrible. 

Caglioni  did  not,  at  first,  seem  to  understand  or 
divine  that  expedient ;  he  had  probably  never  heard 
of  it.  But  seeking  once  more  to  call  out,  he  ex- 


A  SHIFT  OF  HAZARDS  145 

perienced  a  sensation  of  sudden  surprise;  spots  be- 
gan to  dance  before  his  dimming  gaze,  objects  to 
whirl  around.  He  strove  to  whip  the  long,  pressing 
fingers  from  the  artery  they  held  closed.  As  well 
endeavor  to  shake  off  the  clutch  of  a  panther!  It 
happened  with  incomprehensible  swiftness;  his  heart 
seemed  to  stop  beating;  he  became  strangely  inert. 
Consciousness  was  leaving  him,  when  he  was  flung 
off  —  afar,  like  an  unclean  thing.  He  did  not  move 
now,  but  lay  still,  huddled-up  in  a  clump  of  black 
bushes. 

Bruce  swayed  for  a  moment.  The  warning  cries 
of  the  secretary  had  been  heard;  voices  were  ap- 
proaching; people,  coming  toward  him  fast,  from 
the  house.  His  whole  body  racked  with  agonizing 
throbs,  yet  he  had  no  time  to  pause.  He  hardly 
knew  what  he  did,  but  leaped  into  the  path  below. 
They  saw  him  and  came  after. 

As  in  a  dream  he  realized  that  the  chase  was  on. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PURSUIT 

BRUCE  had  no  idea  where  he  was  going;  dazed 
by  the  shaping  of  events,  he  fled  without 
thought  of  direction.  As  if  the  night's  adventures 
had  not  already  been  sufficiently  thrilling  without 
this  mad  sequel!  Fortunately  the  way,  blindly 
chosen,  favored  him;  the  shadow  of  the  hill  threw 
its  impress  on  the  road  the  path  zigzagged  into; 
overhanging  foliage  blackened  certain  places.  But 
his  pursuers  were  near;  he  could  hear  the  sound  of 
their  feet  and  the  loud  shouting.  Truly  a  merry 
pursuit ;  a  hot  hue  and  cry !  They  were  holding 
the  course,  taking  to  the  scent  like  hungry  hounds 
in  the  scramble  of  a  haphazard  steeple-chase.  He 
would  have  to  play  his  part,  for  a  time ;  needs  must 
when  —  His  brain  began  to  clear. 

And,  thinking  more  distinctly,  he  at  first  blamed 
himself  for  not  having  dashed  back  into  the  wooded 
park,  taking  his  chances  there,  instead  of  here.  Or 

146 


PURSUIT  147 

would  they  have  been  better,  after  all,  had  he  acted 
otherwise  than  without  thought,  consideration? 
The  little  patch  of  trees  could  soon  have  been  sur- 
rounded ;  he  would  have  been  free  to  grope  around 
among  them,  no  doubt,  without  being  discovered 
while  darkness  lasted.  But  with  the  coming  of  day- 
light? Chance  had,  perhaps,  served  him  better  than 
he  would  have  served  himself;  the  comparatively 
open  stretches  of  the  country  around  were  surely 
preferable  to  the  park,  a  maze  to  enmesh  him !  Be- 
sides, the  Chinaman  had  taken  refuge  there;  lie, 
too,  would  have  been  discovered,  had  Bruce  fled 
thither.  Now  the  fellow  would  be  safe ;  the  young 
man  had  no  desire  to  involve  the  Celestial  in  the 
complicacy  of  the  events  of  the  night. 

Fleet-footed,  Bruce  continued  to  run  on;  the 
shadows  danced  by  him.  Save  for  the  pain  he 
suffered  from  the  burns,  the  bandages  of  which 
had  been  a  good  deal  disarranged  in  the  recent 
struggle,  he  was  not  in  bad  "  form."  He  had  be- 
fore him,  he  knew,  no  mere  hundred  yard  dash : 
but  his  endurance  was  that  of  a  ricksha  lad.  He 
speeded  with  lithe,  even  stride;  a  swinging,  unvary- 
ing gait  that  tells  in  the  end. 


148  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

But  fast  as  he  went,  the  pursuers  kept  him  in 
sight;  where  the  road,  shorn  of  shade  now,  turned 
sharply,  horse-shoe-like,  they  from  above  could  look 
down  and  see  him.  A  few  of  those  following, 
knowing  certain  "  short-cuts,"  had  taken  them.  At 
such  times  he  could  hear  the  crashing  of  branches, 
the  breaking  of  dry  limbs;  then,  would  catch  sight 
of  the  men  coming  after.  Nearer;  disheartening!}- 
so! 

The  stake  was  great.  A  necklace  of  pearls,  rep- 
resenting a  fortune!  A  large  reward  would  await 
him  able  to  return  it  to  the  owner;  and  he  who 
had  it  was,  apparently,  so  close.  They  would  not 
allow  him  to  get  away ;  among  them  were  a  number 
of  husky  farmer  lads,  assistant  gardeners  at  the 
Goldberg  place,  well  prepared  for  a  test  of  physical 
capability.  Every  man  strove  to  be  first;  strained 
to  that  end.  One  or  two  that  had  weapons  used 
them,  and,  although  the  leaden  missives  went  wide, 
a  new  source  of  hazard  ensued  for  Bruce. 

In  the  valley,  where  had  been  but  spectral  shad- 
ows of  houses,  pin  points  of  light  now  sprang  into 
the  darkness.  Some  of  those  who  dwelt  in  the 
village  and  outside,  were  aroused  and  looking  out 


PURSUIT  149 

of  their  windows,  divined  something  unusual  hap- 
pening; saw  on  the  top  of  the  hill  the  Goldberg 
house  which  had  become  dark  at  the  conclusion  of 
festivities,  once  more  brightly,  fully  illumined. 
Why? 

Bruce  knew  but  too  well  the  average  villager  to 
be  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  curious  about  all 
that  goes  on  in  his  little  world.  And  here  was 
enough,  not  only  to  awake,  but  to  cause  him  to 
dress  hurriedly  and  send  him  forth  to  the  public 
highways.  To  learn  what  it  meant ;  the  reason  peo- 
ple should  be  thus,  vociferously  and  indecorously, 
hurrying  downward,  in  the  small  hours,  from  the 
great  house  on  the  hill!  Enough,  also,  to  disturb 
the  slumbers  of  even  the  sluggish  proprietor  of  the 
town  tavern,  and  his  few  transient  guests,  among 
whom  might  be  Mr.  Bolger!  The  prospect  ahead 
would  soon  be,  perhaps  was  now,  little  preferable 
for  Bruce  to  that  in  an  opposite  direction.  Already 
he  fancied  he  saw,  far  away,  little  moving  specks 
of  shadow,  beneath  the  lamplight  in  front  of  the 
hostelry,  vague  spots  that  would  presently  resolve 
themselves  into  indubitable  human  figures,  advanc- 
ing upward  to  intercept  him. 


150  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Unless  he  could  find,  somewhere  as  he  went  on, 
a  fit  turning-place!  Now  he  looked  for  it,  but  in 
vain;  to  his  right,  stretched  gently  upward  an  open 
field.  The  faint  breeze  laughed  and  wantoned  with 
young  tassels  of  grain;  they  seemed  to  sway  and 
toss  mockingly.  From  them  his  eye,  passing 
swiftly  to  the  left,  met  an  outlook  equally  unsuited 
for  his  purpose;  a  steeper  descent,  without  tree  or 
bush. 

The  3'oung  man  kept  on  his  way.  Some  distance 
ahead  an  old  road,  descending,  ran  into  the  one  he 
was  on;  the  former  had  been  abandoned  as  a  high- 
way, being  too  steep  and  rough  for  practical  pur- 
poses; the  township  had  outgrown  it.  Through 
Bruce's  brain  now  flashed  how,  earlier  that  day,  he 
had  idly  noted  the  ancient,  weed-overgrown  thor- 
oughfare, swinging  around  in  rather  eccentric  fash- 
ion, below  the  Goldberg  place.  He  determined  to 
dash  into  it  and  trust  to  its  hazards  rather  than  those 
he  might  encounter  farther  down  in  the  valley.  The 
thought  stimulated  him  to  increase  the  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  his  pursuers. 

But,  as  he  neared  the  fork,  a  figure  approaching 
fast  on  the  old  road,  toward  the  new,  became  dis- 


PURSUIT  151 

cernible  afar.  Seme  one  bent  on  heading  him  off, 
of  course,  Bruce  decided  quickly.  With  muscles  set, 
he  prepared  for  an  encounter  he  feared  would  be 
brief;  he  was  not  very  sanguine  of  favorable  results 
to  himself.  The  man  reached  the  more  modern 
highway  a  hundred  yards  or  so  before  Bruce  came 
up  to  the  fork.  There  the  latter  expected  to  see  him 
turn,  halt,  and  prepare  to  put  a  stop  to  further  flight 
on  his,  Bruce's,  part  To  his  intense  wonder,  this 
person  did  nothing  of  the  kind ;  he  ran  on  ahead  of 
Bruce,  and  at  a  surprising  rate  of  speed. 

Moreover,  his  rapidly  moving  figure  continued  to 
keep  well  to  the  front.  The  seemingly  inevitable 
contest  the  other  had  been  far  from  courting,  he 
could  not  now  have  brought  about,  had  he  so  de- 
sired. Fear  seemed  to  lend  the  stranger  wings ;  he, 
apparently,  had  not  the  remotest  desire  to  meet  and 
try  conclusions  with  Bruce.  Or  the  others? 

The  query  shot  suddenly  into  the  young  man's 
mind.  He  passed  the  fork  without  darting  into  the 
old  road  as  he  had  intended;  he  hardly  knew  why 
he  changed  his  mind,  until  the  opportunity  to  wheel 
about  and  retrace  his  way  toward  the  top  of  the 
hill,  by  another  route,  had  gone  by.  With  the 


152  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

unexpected  figure  before  his  eyes,  he  kept  on; 
their  feet  beat  now  almost  in  unison  on  the  road. 

The  situation  would  have  seemed  whimsical,  were 
it  not  for  a  black  element  of  tragedy  in  the  threat- 
ening denouement.  An  expedient  did  occur  to 
Bruce;  to  attempt  to  wait  somewhere  at  a  turn  of 
the  road  in  the  shadow,  to  merge,  as  best  he  might, 
with  the  others;  explain,  if  needs  be,  and  join  in 
the  man-hunt  of  this  miscreant.  Who  had  been 
in  Mr.  Goldberg's  anteroom;  at  his  strong-box, 
and  taken  —  what  ? 

Did  a  motive  of  pity  or  false  compassion  in  the 
oversensitive  young  man's  breast  for  the  poor 
wretch,  fleeing  for  liberty,  move  Bruce  at  the  in- 
stant and  cause  him  to  hesitate  to  yield  to  that  other 
natural  and  proper  impulse  —  to  half-waive,  and 
then  again  weigh  the  matter,  until  it  was  too  late 
to  act? 

For,  with  a  sudden  leap,  the  fellow  left  the  road. 
Springing  over  a  fence  into  the  great  orchard  of 
a  large  estate  he  had  just  reached,  he  dashed  into 
the  shadows.  Had  those  coming  behind  perceived 
the  unknown  and  obviously  self-proven  guilty  one 


PURSUIT  153 

who  had  been  fleeing  ahead  of  Bruce?  The  latter 
did  not  believe  so.  He  found  himself  more  dis- 
turbingly face  to  face  with  his  own  predicament 
and  considered  again  only  the  immediate  imminence 
of  being  taken  himself.  Unfortunately,  it  would 
be  out  of  the  question  now  to  say  that  he  whom 
they  had  wished  for,  longed  to  capture,  had  gone 
there,  and  stupidly  point  to  the  trees.  They  would 
take  him,  Bruce,  instead,  and,  if  they  did  not  find 
the  pearls  in  one  of  his  pockets,  would  conclude  he 
had  thrown  them  away. 

No;  he  had  let  a  chance  slip,  foolishly,  thought- 
lessly ;  it  was  gone  beyond  recall.  And  —  the 
realization  smote  him  sharply !  —  people  were  be- 
ginning to  come  up  the  road  from  the  village; 
Bruce  now  was  certain  of  the  fact.  His  own  glance 
swept  toward  the  fence;  he,  too,  sprang  over. 

Into  Mr.  Samuel  Page's  place!  He  realized 
where  he  was  almost  at  once.  Running  beneath  the 
trees  he  made  his  way  toward  the  dim  outline  of 
the  run-down  untenanted  structure.  He  was  cog- 
nizant of  treading  the  young  apples  beneath  his 
heel,  of  suddenly  slipping  and  catching  himself, 


154  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

then  striking  hard,  as  he  lurched  forward,  a  low 
branch  he  had  not  seen.  At  the  shock,  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  become  dizzy;  a  throb  of  pain  gripped 
his  side.  He  could  hardly  stand.  With  an  effort, 
he  steadied  himself  against  a  tree-trunk.  But  he 
realized  he  could  not  long  remain  thus;  an  instant, 
and  he  went  on.  To  pause,  meant  the  others  would 
soon  come  up  to  him;  luckily,  they  were  now  run- 
ning by. 

A  bend  in  the  way  had,  for  the  instant,  con- 
cealed him  from  them  when  he  had  vaulted  the 
palings  of  the  Page  estate.  They  would  before 
long,  however,  understand  where  he  had  gone; 
when  they  reached  the  near-by  straight  prospect  of 
highway  and  failed  to  see  him,  they  would  at  once 
return.  At  best,  a  brief  interval  only  would  be 
lost  by  them;  Bruce  had  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

He  staggered  toward  the  house.  A  dark  form 
had  preceded  him,  but  he  did  not  see  it  now ;  he  was 
mindful  only  of  himself.  At  the  rear  of  the  de- 
serted dwelling  he  looked  out  over  a  private  road 
that  stretched  back,  across  a  broad  meadow.  The 
narrow  way  held,  wooed  derisively  his  glance,  but 
ere  he  could  traverse  that  open  space,  he  knew  he 


PURSUIT  155 

would  again,  in  all  likelihood,  be  caught  sight  of 
and  he  felt  no  longer  able  at  the  moment  to  con- 
tinue the  hard,  racking  pace.  The  blow  he  had 
struck  his  side  must  have  injured  the  muscles;  his 
heart,  leaping  fast,  protested  against  the  sharp, 
shooting  twinges. 

He  moved  to  the  half-rotting  door  of  the  kitchen. 
The  big,  dilapidated  old  mansion  frankly  made  no 
pretense  of  keeping  out  any  one  seriously  bent  on 
entering.  Many  of  the  windows  had  been  broken; 
a  few  sashes  were  out,  and  burlap  was  tacked  over 
the  openings  in  lieu  of  any  cheaper  substance.  The 
rickety  structure  had  an  indifferent  name  with  the 
local  authorities;  its  reputation  assigned  it  as  an 
occasional  domicile  for  those  of  the  peripatetic 
species  who  chanced  a-wandering  that  way.  But 
Mr.  Page  did  not  mind  the  disreputable  nomad,  or 
any  other  trespassers;  if  an  incendiary  busied  him- 
self there,  all  the  better;  one  or  two  policies  in  his 
strong-box  provided  for  that  contingency.  The 
land  could  not  be  injured,  or  carried  off;  it  repre- 
sented a  snug,  and  ever-increasing  profit. 

Bruce  pushed  and  the  back  door  yielded.  It 
might  have  been  nailed,  to  keep  it  closed,  earlier  in 


156  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  season,  but  now  it  balked  no  one  desirous  of 
going  in.  The  young  man  stood  in  the  darkness. 
Feeling  a  hard  projection,  he  half-fell  upon  it  —  a 
sink.  Resting  thus,  he  strove  to  suppress  his  pant- 
ing, to  regain  his  strength.  The  moments  passed ; 
the  pain  in  his  side  grew  less;  he  felt  relieved  and 
began  to  think  now  what  he  should  next  do.  He 
listened.  No  sound  of  his  pursuers! 

Could  it  be,  by  some  lucky  chance,  they  had  con- 
tinued on  their  way?  Hope  throbbed  in  his  breast. 
He  would,  however,  remain  in  this  black  shelter 
only  a  short  time  longer;  then  he  would  be  suffi- 
ciently himself  to  go  on  and  meet  what  might  come. 
He  made  a  movement;  suddenly  stood  stock  still. 

Some  one  else  was  in  the  house,  not  far  from 
him  standing  or  crouching  in  the  darkness.  He 
had  caught  the  sound  and  knew  he  could  not  be 
mistaken.  Bruce  hardly  breathed  as  he  stared  into 
the  night.  A  faint  creaking,  as  of  a  heavy  body 
stirring,  he  could  not  tell  where,  now  assailed  his 
ear;  he  could  fancy  he  caught  a  low  sibilant  res- 
piration. Some  object  struck  lightly,  intermit- 
tently the  wall.  A  bit  of  burlap,  loosened  by  the 


PURSUIT  157 

wind?  Tap!  tap!  Bruce's  figure  drew  back  to 
spring.  Click!  a  finger  was  at  the  trigger  of  a  re- 
volver. 

Bruce  did  not  leap  forward;  instead,  he  stepped 
swiftly  aside,  at  the  same  time  calling  out. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


A    MEETING   IN    THE   DARK 

itiTTAO  you  want  to  bring  the  others  here?"  he 
\J  said  in  a  sharp  tone.  "They're  apt  to 
come  back  soon  enough,  anyway.  If  you  only  wish 
to  add  to  your  predatory  transgression,"  ironically, 
"  by  gratifying  a  homicidal  impulse,  wouldn't  it  be 
less  stupid  —  pardon  the  word  from  a  stranger  — 
to  accomplish  it  in  a  quieter  and  more  delicate  man- 
ner? For  your  own  sake,  of  course!"  he  ended 
softly. 

The  silence  grew.  Noiseless  as  a  shadow,  Bruce 
again  moved;  a  possible  leaden  answer  would  not 
find  him  in  the  place  whence  he  had  spoken. 

"Who  are  you?"  The  voice  was  hoarse;  vi- 
brated harshly.  In  the  bare  room,  the  echoes 
seemed  to  distort  the  sound.  There  could  be  di- 
vined, however,  in  the  hollow,  unfamiliar  accents, 
an  abject  pusillanimity.  He  who  had  dared  to  enter 

158 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK          159 

the  Goldberg  house  and  rifle  the  safe,  had  lost  the 
cool  pluck  that  must  have  nerved  him  to  the  risky 
and  difficult  coup. 

Bruce  whistled  softly.  His  foot  came  in  contact 
with  a  bit  of  wood  on  the  floor;  he  stooped  for  it 
and  answered :  "  Never  mind !  " 

"  But  I  do,"  in  shriller  accents.     "  Quick,  or  — " 

"  Hush,  fool,  or  they  will  be  here.  And  put 
down  your  revolver.  Do !  "  persuasively.  "  I'm 
not  half  so  afraid  of  an  armed  adversary  who  is  a 
man  of  metal  as,"  contemptuously,  "  a  poltroon  with 
a  weapon." 

Did  the  fellow  lower  his  arm?  The  stillness 
ensuing  lasted  only  a  moment,  but  it  seemed  very 
long.  The  unknown,  in  an  uncertain  voice,  repeated 
his  first  question. 

"  That  is  little  to  the  point,"  replied  Bruce. 
Perhaps,  just  for  the  instant,  he  forgot  his  own 
danger  in  a  derisory  interest,  called  forth  by  the 
situation.  "  I  might  indulge  in  a  like  curiosity, 
but  do  not.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  languidly, 
"  let  the  darkness  keep  its  secret.  You  may  be  a 
mere  vulgar  chevalier  d' Industrie ,  professional 
housebreaker  or  cracksman.  Or  you  may  be  a 


160  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

gentleman,  subjected  to  temptation  and  fallen  —  one 
of  Mr.  Goldberg's  guests !  "  shrewdly. 

Again  came  the  ominous,  preliminary  click; 
Bruce  knew  the  finger,  acting  in  conjunction  with 
the  palm,  was  about  to  apply  the  necessary  second 
pressure.  Lithely  he  shifted  once  more;  the  ham- 
mer did  fall;  but  the  cartridge  only  snapped. 

"  Lucky  for  you !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  and 
leaped  forward.  His  own  hand  swung  here,  there ! 
Then  the  billet  of  wood  struck  something  hard ;  the 
revolver  clattered  to  the  floor.  "  Let  it  lie !  "  A 
suppressed  sound  answered;  the  fellow  seemed  to 
shrink  back;  to  occupy  a  small  space  in  a  corner. 
"If  you  got  your  deserts,  I'd  leave  you,  senseless, 
beside  it,  with  the  pearls  in  your  pocket ;  for  them  to 
find — "  He  broke  off,  held  his  head  toward  the 
door  and  listened.  He  thought  he  heard  stealthy 
footsteps  without,  but  could  not  be  sure.  The  si- 
lence now  was  that  of  the  grave. 

"  Don't  give  me  up !  Don't !  "  the  man  cried  out 
in  a  sudden  agony  of  fear.  "I  was  mad;  I  did 
not  know  what  I  did.  It  was  the  first  time.  Those 
cursed  pearls,  they  bewitched  me.  I  am  not  my- 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK          161 

self  now.  For  the  love  of  Heaven,"  broke  from 
him,  "  tell  me,  is  it  real?  No  terrible  dream?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  real  enough,"  observed  Bruce 
dryly.  "  Although,  no  doubt,  it  would  be  very 
agreeable  if  it  were  not!  If  both  of  us  could  just 
wake  up,  and  find  ourselves  in  our  own  comfort- 
able bedrooms!  Turn  over  and  go  to  sleep  again. 
That  would  be  jolly,  wouldn't  it?" 

His  jesting  tone  had  a  ghastly  sound;  he  could 
fancy  the  other's  shudder.  He  remembered  some- 
where having  once  witnessed,  or  rather,  heard,  the 
scene  of  a  play  in  which  the  characters  moved  and 
spoke  in  a  blackness  like  that  of  the  pit.  He  tried 
to  think  of  them  now;  those  people  at  cross-pur- 
poses in  the  depths;  what  tangle  was  it  they  were 
trying  to  straighten  out? 

He  could  not  recall.  He  wondered  vaguely  if 
the  burns,  the  pain,  had  not  made  him  a  little  fever- 
ish. He  was  once  more  resting  against  the  sink. 
It  seemed  to  him  an  interminable  period  since  he 
had  entered  the  deserted  Page  dwelling;  in  reality 
but  a  few  moments  had  passed.  He  experienced  a 
sudden  lethargy  and  should  have  liked  to  yield  to 


1 62  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  feeling.  To  throw  it  off,  however;  to  regain 
possession  of  himself,  his  alertness,  he  laughed : 

"  You've  got  a  bad  attack  of  afraid-you're-going- 
to-be- found-out,"  he  observed  with  light  accents. 
"  Cheer  up !  No  doubt,  you'll  take  a  rosier  view 
of  the  situation  in  the  morning.  That  is,"  he 
added,  "  if  you  act  at  once !  " 

"  You  mean,"  uncertainly,  "  you're  going  to  let 
me  go?  " 

"If  you  can  get  away  —  from  them ! "  he  sup- 
plemented. 

"  But  why  should  you  do  that  ?  Why  are  you 
here?  Were  you,  too,  running  away  from  some- 
one ?  "  vehemently. 

Bruce  moved  toward  the  door.  "  I  was  standing 
near  the  Goldberg  house;  they  took  me  for  you," 
wearily.  "  It  would  have  been  inconvenient  for 
me  to  have  stopped  just  then.  A  young  lover 
dreaming  beneath  his  dulcinea's  window,"  mock- 
ingly, "  might  be  averse  to  explaining  his  romantic 
presence  to  a  hard  and  unsympathizing  world." 

Did  the  other,  even  in  his  terror,  detect  the  de- 
risiveness of  those  tones?  His  own  voice  came  out 
of  the  night,  now,  in  a  sudden,  sharp  whisper: 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK          163 

"  I  see !     You,  too,  were  after  the  pearls  —  pard !  " 

The  last  word  seemed  added,  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  as  if  the  fellow  made  a  belated  attempt 
to  veil  his  position,  a  possibly  respectable  standing 
in  the  community. 

"Will  you  share?"  Bruce  spoke  swiftly. 
"  Since  you  honor  me  by  calling  me  '  pard  ' !  " 

"I  —  I  — "  cupidity  struggled  with  alarm  in  the 
man's  voice,  " —  didn't  get  them.  They  raised  the 
alarm  before  I  cribbed  the  swag!" 

"  That's  unfortunate,"  coolly.  No  lie  was  ever 
more  apparent.  Something  else,  too,  had  become 
apparent  to  Bruce ;  the  fellow's  voice ;  he  had  heard 
it  before.  Where?  He  could  not  remember  at 
that  moment. 

"  I  didn't  get  the  swag,"  reasseverated  the  voice. 

"  Well,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it !  " 

A  sigh,  as  of  relief,  floated  in  the  air. 

Bruce  opened  the  door  which  he  had  closed  on 
entering.  "  Time  to  be  off,"  he  spoke  curtly.  His 
head  throbbed,  but  he  strove  to  hold  himself  with 
alertness,  with  every  fiber  on  the  qui  vive. 

"  You  mean  together?  "  the  other  asked  in  obvi- 
ous trepidation. 


1 64  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Bruce  answered  quickly  in  the  negative.  He  had 
no  more  desire  that  night  for  the  fellow's  company, 
than  the  latter  had  for  his.  They  had  met  in  the 
complete  obscurity  of  darkness;  they  would  part, 
each  unknown  to  the  other.  Under  different  cir- 
cumstances, the  young  man  might,  he  said,  with 
equivocal  accent,  have  been  charmed  to  continue 
an  acquaintance  so  interestingly  begun. 

Now  it  but  remained  for  him  to  point  out  that 
there  were  two  ways  by  which  they  could  separate, 
and,  incidentally,  escape :  one  a  private  road  over  the 
meadow ;  the  other,  a  side  course.  The  former  led 
up  the  hill  reaching  the  top  some  distance  beyond 
the  rear  of  Mr.  Goldberg's  place;  the  latter  would 
take  him  who  elected  that  choice  of  direction,  to 
the  fence  of  some  one's  —  he  didn't  know  whose  - 
estate  adjoining.  That  house,  also,  however,  was 
not  occupied,  and  one  or  two  others,  beyond,  were 
still  vacant,  the  owners  having  not  yet  taken  up 
their  abode  at  Comscot,  for  the  summer. 

"  I'll  take  my  chance  from  the  side,"  said  the 
fellow  eagerly. 

Bruce  stepped  yet  farther  from  the  door  to  al- 
low him,  unidentified,  to  pass.  "  Colonel  Manyan's 


A  MEETING  IX  THE  DARK          165 

house  is  the  fourth  or  fifth.  He  lives  there  the 
year  around,"  significantly.  "After  you!"  He 
waited;. he  thought  he  had  seen  the  fellow  stoop  to 
pick  up  his  revolver. 

The  latter,  however,  hesitated  to  go  first.  "  How 
do  I  know  you  won't  — " 

"  Bestow  upon  you  a  coup  de  grace  as  you  pass? 
You,"  softly,  "  will  have  to  take  a  chance  at  that. 
And  at  once !  " 

The  man  moved  to  the  threshold;  but  instead 
of  stepping  out,  he,  with  an  exclamation  of  sharp 
terror,  bounded  back.  A  number  of  persons  who 
had  either  just  entered  the  grounds,  or  been  con- 
cealed in  the  bushes,  now  sprang  fiercely,  exultantly, 
toward  the  house.  The  fellow  wheeled ;  stayed  not 
on  the  order  of  his  going,  but  ran  from  the  kitchen 
back  through  the  dwelling,  toward  the  front.  Ap- 
parently he  knew  the  place  well. 

Bruce  also  did  not  pause.  He  stepped  quickly 
behind  the  door,  and  none  too  soon. 

Those  in  the  yard,  rushing  forward  with  loud 
cries,  now  swept  in  and  went  stumbling  on  after  the 
retreating  footsteps.  The  young  man  listened  to 
the  pursuers'  eager,  more  or  less  blundering  move- 


1 66  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

ments ;  a  few  moments  later  he  heard  the  front  door 
slam.  Bruce  slipped  out  at  the  back,  at  the  same 
time  the  fellow  emerged  from  the  front. 

All  concern  now  focused  on  the  latter;  he  had 
not  yet  been  captured.  Amid  other  sounds  Bruce 
caught  that  of  a  loud  voice  —  surely  Bolger's  — 
ringing  out  in  stern  command  to  the  fugitive  to 
throw  up  his  hands  and  surrender.  The  fellow  did 
not  heed;  fear  seemed  to  lend  him  extraordinary 
agility  and  strength.  He  discharged  his  weapon 
freely,  used  wildly  his  fists  and  arms.  A  number 
of  those  who  tried  to  stop  him,  he  evaded ;  he  struck 
one  or  two  down,  leaping  past  them  into  the 
shadows.  Bruce  heard  the  din  of  hoarse  exclama- 
tions, anathemas ;  then  the  confused  coterie  of  peo- 
ple seemed  moving  farther  aside,  away  from  the 
house. 

Unperceived,  he  ran  out.  He  saw  no  one,  only 
heard  them,  the  voices  becoming  more  distant.  A 
shadow  of  a  smile  crossed  his  lips.  "  Thanks,  Mon- 
sieur Incognito,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  Never- 
theless, he  was  not  confident  the  danger  was  past; 
there  seemed  a  chance;  that  was  all.  He  accepted 
the  hazard  boldly. 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK         167 

Every  fiber  of  his  being  responded  as  he  dashed 
from  the  house  and  set  out  at  a  breakneck  speed 
along  the  private  road,  up  and  across  the  broad 
meadow. 


CHAPTER  XV 

OUT   OF   THE   FOREST 

MARJORIE  WOOD  awoke  early;  she  had  not 
slept  well  that  night.  Perhaps  the  excite- 
ment of  the  evening,  after  the  dance  with  Sir  Archi- 
bald, followed  in  her  dreams  and  made  them 
troubled.  It  was  still  dark  without,  when  she 
slipped  from  her  bed  and  looked  at  her  watch. 

Not  yet  three  o'clock,  she  saw  by  the  tiny  light 
left  burning  in  her  room;  it  would  be  some  time 
before  the  others  in  the  house  would  be  stirring. 
A  moment  she  stood  uncertainly ;  then  moved  to  the 
window,  and,  drawing  the  curtains,  looked  out. 

How  still  it  was!  Not  a  leaf  seemed  to  move. 
She  listened,  watched;  then  her  gaze  became  more 
intent;  it  fastened  on  a  particular  spot.  From  the 
black  fringe  of  forest  that  reached  like  a  triangle 
toward  her  room  she  thought  she  discerned  in  the 
gloom  something  moving  toward  the  shrubs  on  the 
lawn  —  an  object,  a  figure?  No;  a  shadow;  that 

168 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  169 

now  was  gone.  Strive  as  she  might,  she  could  not 
again  locate  it. 

A  shadow,  of  course !  One  of  many  shadows 
waving  everywhere  around;  that  came  and  went. 
Mechanically  she  drew  back;  how  many  ephemeral 
fancies  had  assailed  her  that  night?  She  regarded 
her  bed,  but  she  knew  she  would  court  sleep  in 
vain  at  the  moment.  She  had  no  desire  to  lie 
awake  there  longer.  Perhaps  if  she  read?  —  But 
what?  It  did  not  matter. 

She  stepped  to  the  chair  over  the  back  of  which 
hung  her  dressing-gown  and  slipped  two  shapely 
young  arms,  with  their  lacy  covering,  into  the  gar- 
ment. Her  slippers  were  near;  she  thrust  her  feet 
into  them  and  went  to  the  door.  Opening  it 
quietly,  she  stepped  into  the  hall. 

The  house  was  but  dimly  lighted ;  the  old  boards 
of  the  floor,  though  covered  with  heavy  rugs, 
creaked  slightly  beneath  her  soft  footfall.  At  the 
head  of  the  stairway  she  paused.  From  the  opposite 
end  of  the  hall  a  brighter  streak  of  light  came  from 
beneath  the  door  of  a  room  —  Sir  Archibald's!  A 
slightly  questioning  look  shone  an  instant  from  her 
eyes;  then  she  went  on.  He  had  probably  over- 


1 70  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

looked  turning  off  the  electric  current  before  retiring. 
Slowly  she  descended.  A  few  white  marbles,  pale 
semblances  of  classical  folk,  seemed  to  confront  her 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  rather  more  ghostly 
fashion  than  usual  as  she  passed  on  to  the  library, 
now  a  sombrous  place,  with  black  lines  of  shade 
thrown  this  way  and  that  across  the  floor. 

The  girl  reached  up  and  turned  on  one  of  the 
side-lights.  The  answering  gleam,  though  not 
bright  in  that  spacious  apartment,  served  to  banish 
some  of  the  deeper  blurs  from  nooks  and  corners. 
She  put  out  her  hand  toward  the  book-shelves. 
Her  fingers  rested  on  a  volume  at  random,  The 
Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  when,  at  that  moment,  her  at- 
tention was  abruptly  arrested,  held  by  a  sound,  dis- 
tinct, unmistakable. 

Some  one  had  approached,  very  lightly,  across  the 
gravel  walk  to  the  house,  stepped  on  to  the  lower 
balcony  and  stood  now  without.  She  was  certain 
of  the  fact;  what  she  had  thought  she  had  seen 
some  time  before,  had  not  been  a  shadow  then. 
The  book  fell  from  her  hand;  she  stepped  quickly 
behind  one  of  the  heavy  long  curtains.  Shielded 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  171 

by  its  folds  from  being  seen,  her  eyes  tried  to  pene- 
trate the  darkness. 

She  saw  nothing,  however,  except,  again,  the 
glimmer  of  the  night;  the  sky,  hardly  so  full  of 
stars.  Then,  with  senses  alert,  she  caught  once 
more  the  footfall  and  made  out  a  figure,  at  first, dark, 
uncertain;  afterward,  plainer. 

He  stood  on  the  veranda  somewhat  aside,  look- 
ing toward  one  of  the  library  windows.  His  figure 
was  framed  by  the  black  timbers  of  the  porch;  they 
lent  it  an  odd  prominence.  The  shadowy  form 
and  the  sky  made  a  picture,  a  nocturne  rimmed  by 
straight  Cimmerian  lines.  In  the  distance,  faint 
quiverings  lent  depth  to  the  background;  fairy  fin- 
gers seemed  weaving  intangible  cobwebs  of  light 
across  the  somber  sky.  Something,  vaguely  white, 
added  a  dim  intrusive  note  to  the  impression;  the 
girl  started. 

That  bit  of  white  was  against  his  side,  on  his 
arm,  or  —  around  it !  She  discerned  now  what  it 
was ;  a  bandage !  That  was  strange !  —  Why  — 
then  the  intruder  was,  must  be  — 

In   the    surprise   of   the   moment    she    suddenly 


172  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

stepped  back  and  in  so  doing  parted  the  curtains. 
A  glow  of  light  from  the  room  gleamed  abruptly 
upon  the  porch.  It  lay  like  a  bright  sword  amid 
the  darkness  at  the  intruder's  feet. 

Was  he  startled,  moved,  for  his  part,  to  some 
quick,  involuntary  action?  The  girl  did  not  see; 
she  was  momentarily  too  dazed,  bewildered.  She 
held  the  curtains  farther  apart,  and  looked  out  at 
him.  And  he,  stepping  at  once  forward,  looked  in 
at  her,  with  the  glass  door  between  them.  He  was 
smiling  now ;  he  held  himself  lightly  erect,  though  at 
what  pain,  what  cost,  to  himself,  she  might  little 
know. 

As  in  a  dream  she  swung  open  the  long  French 
windows.  A  moment  still  he  lingered  without,  his 
gaze,  very  bright,  on  her;  the  crown  of  dark  hair 
that  seemed  to  catch  up  and  hold  the  light  behind 
her,  the  deep  eyes  —  too  deep,  in  the  wondrous 
shadow,  to  be  blue! 

"  You  are  —  surprised  ?  "  he  murmured.  The 
words  were  spoken  so  faintly  they  seemed  a  part 
of  the  breeze  that  stirred  about  her  now,  waving 
slightly  the  folds  of  her  gown;  her  hair.  "I'm 
afraid  I  startled  you." 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  173 

"I  —  just  a  little  — "  She  saw  now,  with  a  new 
responsive  thrill,  how  worn  and  drawn  was  his 
face! 

His  eyes,  however,  yet  strove  to  mask  an  expres- 
sion of  pain,  acute,  almost  overpowering. 

"But  why— "she  began.  "Why  did  you—" 
And  stopped;  she  seemed  suddenly  to  understand. 

The  burns !  They  had  been  severe ;  had  she  not 
herself  seen?  He,  with  all  his  fortitude,  had  been 
unable  to  sleep,  to  endure  the  confinement  of  his 
room;  had  felt  impelled,  driven  to  go  forth, 
through  physical  pangs,  anywhere,  out  into  the 
night,  anywhere,  to  be  moving! 

"  Ah ! "  she  breathed  impulsively.  Her  eyes 
were  like  stars ;  the  lace  at  her  throat  stirred  quickly. 
He  came  in. 

"  Why  —  why  did  you  not  call  some  one  ?  "  she 
faltered. 

"  Call  some  one?  "  he  repeated,  as  if  not  under- 
standing. His  gaze  burned;  her  lashes  half-low- 
ered. 

"  The  bandages  —  they  are  disarranged.  Shall 
I  not  call  some  one  now  ?  " 

"  What  ?     Wake  the  household  ?     It  is  unneces- 


174  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

sary ;  quite !  "  He  spoke  lightly,  though  very  low, 
with  a  forced  jauntiness  in  his  accents. 

But  even  as  he  replied,  his  figure  swayed  slightly ; 
she  noted  the  quick  growing  pallor  of  his  face.  He 
leaned  hard,  with  his  hand  on  the  table,  sought 
yet  to  stand  erect,  then  seemed  to  sink,  through 
no  volition  of  his  own,  to  a  large  chair.  A  faint 
cry  was  stilled  on  her  lips;  she  looked  at  him,  then 
glanced  quickly  around  her,  when,  as  if  divining 
some  intention  on  her  part,  he  again  moved  and 
made  a  gesture  with  his  hand. 

"  Call  no  one,"  he  repeated.  "  It  is  nothing. 
I'm  a  bit  done  up;  that  is  all.  Quite  myself  now," 
he  added  with  an  effort. 

"  But  —  you  are  not,"  she  said. 

"  Hark !  "  He  seemed  listening.  "  I  hope  we 
—  I  haven't  awakened  any  one." 

"It   wouldn't    matter,"    quickly.     "Let   me—" 

She  bent  over.  Before  he  had  time  to  expostu- 
late, had  he  thought  of  so  doing,  she  began  to  re- 
arrange the  bandages  of  his  hand.  He  felt  too 
absurdly  weak  at  the  moment  to  resist.  As  through 
a  haze,  he  saw  the  beautiful,  down-bent  head;  her 
fingers,  light,  sedulous. 


She  bent  over  and  began  to  rearrange  the  bandages — Page  i?4 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  175 

"  It  is  really  all  right  now,"  he  murmured,  an 
accent  of  self-scoffing  in  his  low  voice  at  this  en- 
ervation, the  unheroic  part  it  forced  upon  him. 

"  Wait !  "  She  would  not  be  put  aside ;  she  had 
not  quite  finished.  Her  fingers  trembled  slightly; 
her  lips  were  not  set  with  their  usual  composure.  It 
may  be  she  was  vividly  cognizant  at  the  instant 
how  the  burns  had  been  acquired;  in  whose  service 
he  had  received  injuries,  so  painful  — 

"  You  are  too  good,"  he  breathed. 

"I?"  She  half-knelt  on  the  cushion,  absorbed, 
forgetful  of  all  save  what  she  was  doing.  He  said 
no  more,  though  the  smile,  slightly  derisory  at  his 
own  momentary  helplessness,  still  lingered  on  his 
lips.  From  the  lawn  matutinal  perfumes  were 
wafted  through  the  opened  glass  doors.  He 
breathed  deeply  like  one  in  a  lotus  dream.  She 
was  so  near!  —  But  only  for  the  moment;  as  a 
vision,  evanescent,  that  would  soon  vanish  from 
him  for  ever,  leaving  nothing  but  a  haunting  mem- 
ory. 

Through  half-closed  lids  he  watched  the  dim 
light  playing  on  the  dark  hair  that  rippled  over  her 
shoulders;  beneath  the  loose  folds  of  the  heavy. 


176  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

shimmering  gown,  he  imagined  she  breathed  once 
or  twice  quickly,  a  divine  movement  more  eloquent 
than  words. 

The  stillness  continued  for  a  few  seconds,  then 
was  suddenly  broken  by  the  unmistakable  sound  of 
something  above,  a  door  opening  softly.  His  hand 
involuntarily  lifted;  his  figure  straightened.  The 
girl,  too,  heard  and  rose.  The  task  she  had  set 
herself,  however,  was  done;  she  looked  hurriedly 
toward  the  stairs,  then  back  at  him.  But  he  seemed 
not  to  see  her  now;  his  fingers  rested  on  something 
in  an  inside  pocket  at  his  breast,  something  hard, 
slightly  projecting.  The  girl  did  not  notice  his 
gesture.  Over  her  face  a  flush  had  slowly  spread ; 
her  eyes,  which  had  swept  first  upward  and  then 
swiftly  aside  at  Bruce,  suddenly  lowered. 

The  glass  door  of  one  of  the  library  sections 
limned  a  pale  reflection  of  herself;  the  long,  flowing 
gown;  the  flash  of  a  white  bare  arm;  the  untram- 
meled  hair,  and  an  abrupt  realization  of  much  that 
was  unconventional  in  her  appearance  came  over 
her.  Her  next  words  were  constrained;  he,  how- 
ever, seemed  hardly  to  hear;  replied  vaguely  he 
would  stay  there  in  the  library  a  little  while  longer. 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  177 

She  was  glad  his  eyes  were  turned  from  her  as 
he  spoke.  He,  too,  had  risen,  was  standing  now, 
deferentially  waiting,  his  features  slightly  down- 
bent.  A  word  or  two  further,  and  she  moved 
across  the  threshold  and  up  the  stairway,  with 
cheeks  still  brightly  tinted,  but  head  proudly  erect, 
gained  her  own  door  and  went  in.  Bruce  heard 
it  close  gently. 

A  few  moments  he  continued  to  stand  motionless, 
as  if  listening;  then  moved  to  a  table  upon  which 
rested  a  decanter,  near  a  box  of  cigars.  Pouring 
out  a  glass  of  wine  he  drank  it  quickly.  Through 
the  partly  opened  door  leading  out  on  to  the  lower 
balcony,  the  earliest  tint  of  dawn  could  be  seen  on 
the  eastern  horizon.  A  bird's  note,  afar  in  the 
forest,  smote  the  sky.  He  looked  out;  the  lawn 
was  deserted.  No  one  had  followed  him;  none  of 
those  he  had  met  below  had  seen  him  enter  here. 

For  the  instant,  that  last  impression  of  the  un- 
known he  had  encountered  so  strangely  in  the  Page 
house  recurred  to  Bruce;  the  din  occasioned  by 
this  person's  mad,  desperate  dash.  Had  the  fellow 
escaped,  with  his  booty?  If  he  had  been  taken? 
A  certain  new  contingency  in  that  event  insinuated 


178  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

itself  in  Bruce's  brain.  It  brought  an  odd  look  to 
his  face.  The  morn?  —  what  tidings  would  it 
bring?  Already  Aurora's  light  palm  had  rubbed 
the  nebulae  from  the  heavens;  the  solitary  canticle 
of  the  feathered  songster  had  by  this  time  evoked 
an  enthusiastic  chorus. 

Bruce  listened  again  for  sounds  from  above,  but 
heard  nothing;  the  big,  rambling  house  was 
wrapped  in  silence.  An  ominous,  deceptive  still- 
ness? He  yet  waited;  his  face  was  pale,  but  the 
overpowering  sense  of  complete  physical  collapse 
had  passed  away.  His  muscles  became  suddenly 
tense;  a  light,  clear,  if  somewhat  reckless,  shone 
from  his  eyes.  About  to  step  toward  the  stairway, 
an  object  on  the  floor  caught  his  glance ;  caused  him 
to  pause  yet  a  moment. 

A  book !  He  stooped  for  it,  gazed  at  the  volume, 
then,  holding  it  carelessly,  he  walked  out  into  the 
hall  and  ascended  the  broad  stairs.  At  the  top  he 
paused  to  look  around  him;  the  upper  hall  was 
dark,  but  his  rapid  glances  pierced  the  shadows. 
He  did  not  wait  long.  With  light,  elastic  step,  he 
moved  noiselessly  toward  the  corridor  leading  to  his 
own  room. 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  179 

To  reach  it,  he  was  obliged  to  pass  Sir  Archi- 
bald's apartments.  Approaching  them,  he  seemed 
to  hold  himself  with  figure  very  alert;  as  if  wait- 
ing, expecting  something  sudden  to  happen  —  a 
door  to  open  —  Sir  Archibald,  or  his  secretary,  or 
both  to  appear  abruptly  on  the  threshold,  then  and 
there  to  hurl  themselves  upon  him,  to  end  at  once 
a  silent  contest,  a  strenuous,  secret  strife.  But 
nothing  of  the  kind  occurred;  the  chambers  be- 
fore him  continued  as  hushed  as  the  grave. 

A  slightly  puzzled  expression  crossed  Bruce's 
features  as  he  paused  at  his  own  threshold.  Sir 
Archibald  was  not  one  to  hesitate,  once  sure  of  his 
ground.  Could  it  be  that  now?  —  Caglioni?  A 
sudden  light  broke  upon  the  young  man.  The 
secretary  might  not  yet  have  returned  to  the  Wood 
mansion.  Was  the  theory  tenable?  Had  the 
Portuguese  been  more  injured  than  he,  Bruce,  had 
expected  ?  Had  aught  else  happened  to  detain  him  ? 
What  would  the  next  few  hours  show? 

The  gods  seemed  to  have  granted  him  a  respite. 
For  how  long?  He  must  not  lull  himself  with 
false  security;  vain  hopes.  A  moment's  exultation 
became  succeeded  by  clearer  afterthoughts.  His 


i  So  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

fingers  rested  on  a  single  key  in  one  of  his  pockets ; 
mechanically  he  drew  it  forth.  Unlocking  the 
door,  he  stepped  in.  The  light  was  still  burning  as 
he  had  left  it;  the  dressing-gown  lay  where  he  had 
thrown  it;  nothing  seemed  disturbed.  No  one  had 
been  in  there;  of  course  not;  he  had  hardly  ex- 
pected it. 

He  turned  again  the  key  in  his  door;  then  felt 
once  more  in  his  pocket  for  the  key  to  the  other 
door,  the  one  opening  on  the  upper  balcony. 

He  could  not  find  it.  He  hastily  turned  every- 
thing out  of  his  pockets  on  to  a  table  —  a  match  box, 
a  small  knife,  a  cigarette  case,  his  watch,  money  — 
but,  not  that  for  which  he  sought.  It  was  gone. 
Where?  Again  shadows  seemed  surrounding  him, 
deeper,  darker  than  before.  He  shook  his  shoul- 
ders, as  if  to  shake  a  gathering  of  ominous  forces 
from  him. 

A  key?  It  was  a  little  thing,  derisively  he  told 
himself,  hardly  to  be  seen,  let  alone  to  be  noticed, 
even  if  any  one  should  chance  upon  finding  it  some- 
where without,  which  was  most  unlikely. 

Bruce  began  to  undress.  His  clothes  were  decid- 
edly the  worse  for  wear;  fortunately,  Mr.  Wood 


OUT  OF  THE  FOREST  181 

had  instructed  the  chauffeur  to  bring  up  from  the 
inn  his  new  guest's  hand-bag.  It  would,  ere  long, 
be  there;  the  young  man  awaited  its  coming  with 
interest. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN    UNEXPECTED  FINALE 

an  lait,  for  two,"  said  Sir  Archibald 
tersely,  to  his  valet  early  that  morning. 
"  Very  good,  Sir  Archibald !  "  And  the  man,  a 
thin,  deferential-appearing  fellow,  who  had  been  in 
the  other's  service  many  years,  bowed  out  of  the 
room.  Sometimes  his  master  and  the  secretary 
breakfasted,  American  fashion,  en  famille,  as  it  were 
in  the  bright  apartment  down-stairs;  on  other  oc- 
casions, when  they  expected  to  put  in  a  busy  morn- 
ing with  correspondence  or  papers  for  certain 
learned  societies,  they  sipped  their  coffee  and  ate 
their  rolls  and  eggs,  continental-wise,  in  Sir  Archi- 
bald's cozy  sitting-room.  In  this  last  contingency, 
however,  the  Englishman  usually  lounged,  clad  in 
a  sober  Scotch  dressing-gown,  pipe  in  hand,  near 
his  table.  Now  the  valet  noted  his  master  was  en- 
gaged in  putting'  the  finishing  touches  to  his  toilet. 
He  adjusted  with  strong,  precise  fingers  his  neck-tie 

182 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          183 

and  set  squarely  in  the  middle  a  small  horseshoe 
of  rubies  and  diamonds. 

As  the  door  closed  and  the  valet  disappeared, 
Sir  Archibald  permitted,  privately,  an  expression 
of  considerable  feeling  to  sweep  his  usually  stolid 
countenance.  He  walked  once  or  twice  back  and 
forth  across  the  thick  carpet,  hands  in  pockets, 
his  tread,  aggressive,  heavy.  At  that  moment,  his 
eyes,  full,  old-looking  —  for  a  man  not  yet  much 
past  thirty !  —  expressed  indubitable  signs  of  an- 
noyance, if  not  anger,  which  faded  as  a  discreet 
knock  announced  the  valet's  return.  The  latter  set 
down  a  tray  quietly,  removed  the  Chinese  checker- 
board, and  laid  the  table,  noiselessly  arranged  the 
dishes,  and,  after  a  last  low  customary  inquiry,  "  if 
there  was  anything  further  ?  "  effected  once  more 
his  unobtrusive  exit. 

Sir  Archibald,  although  he  had  ordered  coffee 
for  two,  drank  it  alone;  he  appeared  not  at  all 
sedulous  about  his  secretary's  share  of  the  beverage 
getting  hike-warm  or  cold.  He  even  helped  him- 
self from  both  cups,  and  ate  one  of  the  eggs  de- 
signed for  Caglioni.  Having  partaken,  he  rose, 
regarded  his  watch,  then  the  closed  door  leading 


184  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

into  his  secretary's  room.  As  he  did  so,  his  brow 
darkened  and  he  stepped  out  upon  his  veranda. 

The  French  windows  opening  from  Bruce's  room 
to  command  a  felicitous  prospect,  mellow  in  the 
soft  morning  glow,  were  fastened,  and  Bam  ford's 
glance,  swerving,  passed  to  the  fringe  of  forest, 
where  it  lingered.  A  big  muscular  fist  closed;  he 
brought  it  down  softly  upon  his  open  palm.  Cag- 
lioni's  continued  absence  tied  his  employer's  hands 
and  Sir  Archibald  longed  to  use  them. 

What  had  happened  during  the  night  ?  Had  any- 
thing? He  stood  impotent,  in  the  dark.  The  game 
was  yet  a  waiting  one,  but  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  waiting  too  long.  He  had  done  so  once  or  twice 
on  his  macham  in  an  Indian  jungle,  and  the  pan- 
ther had  not  only  got  away,  but  taken  the  bait  with 
him. 

Sir  Archibald  stirred  restlessly.  Had  not  his  pa- 
tience, however,  been  sorely  tried?  When  he  had 
heard  whispered  voices  in  the  library  some  time 
before  and  had  wished  to  play,  not  a  listening,  but 
an  acting  part!  A  cruel  glint  shone  from  his  cold 
gaze ;  then  his  set  jaw  relaxed,  and  returning  to  his 
room,  he,  in  methodical  fashion,  completed  his 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          185 

toilet,  which  done,  he  stood  ready  for  the  events  of 
the  day,  whatever  they  might  be.  He  had  a  pre- 
monition the  hours  to  come  would  be  exciting  ones. 

Passing  out  into  the  hall,  he  paused  long  enough 
to  tell  one  of  the  housemaids  that  Senor  Caglioni, 
after  breakfasting,  had  retired  to  his  own  room. 
The  secretary  was  not  feeling  well,  a  bad  head- 
ache, and  so  she  or  any  of  the  other  servants  whose 
duty  it  was  to  care  for  his  room,  could  defer  that 
task  until  later  in  the  day.  Saying  which,  Sir 
Archibald  walked  quickly  down  the  stairs. 

As  he  was  stepping  by  the  library  he  stopped  an 
instant  to  glance  through  the  open  door,  but  no 
one  was  there.  Only  the  vacant  gaze  of  a  number 
of  ancestral  portraits  above  the  book-shelves  con- 
centrated upon  him  with  a  cold  British-like  fixed- 
ness, met  his  own  searching  look.  It  seemed  to 
grow  blacker;  he  looked  around  with  new  interest 
for  the  place,  then  regarded  the  outer  doors  now 
wide  open,  admitting  the  morning  air,  the  sound  of 
the  bees  in  the  honeysuckle  vines.  One  of  the  lat- 
ter appeared  a  little  disarranged;  a  streamer  of 
green,  torn  from  its  fastening,  floated  erratically  in 
the  fresh,  early  breezes.  Bam  ford's  large,  thick 


i86  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

lips  murmured  something  softly  to  himself,  as  he 
walked  on,  out  of  the  front  door  and  into  the  gar- 
den. 

There  his  glance  sought  again  the  wing  of  the 
rambling  mansion;  he  even  moved  to  one  side  to 
be  afforded  a  better  view  of  it;  the  trellis-work; 
the  ground  beneath.  Engaged  in  the  consideration 
of  a  decidedly  limited,  profitless  and  axiomatic 
"  two  and  two  makes  four  "  mathematical  process, 
beginning  at  certain  footprints  on  the  ground  and 
ending  at  a  closed  room  overhead,  he  did  not  at 
first  hear  a  motor-car  approaching  the  house  along 
the  public  highway  in  front.  It  had  turned  into 
the  grounds  ere  he  raised  his  head  to  look  around; 
the  machine  swept  quickly  down  the  private  way 
through  the  lawn  and  suddenly  stopped. 

The  chauffeur  leaned  at  first  from  his  car,  as 
if  to  answer  some  one  who  had  spoken  to  him,  then, 
shutting  off  the  noise  of  the  machine,  respectfully 
got  out.  At  the  same  moment  Sir  Archibald 
-  walked  forward.  He  saw  now  who  the  "  some 
one  "  was  —  a  girl  in  a  rose-colored  linen  gown. 
His  lips  set  rather  firmly,  in  an  abrupt  hard  line; 
but  only  for  an  instant.  He  became  once  more 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          187 

heavily  dcbonnaire  as  a  Piccadilly  masculine  fashion- 
print,  and  greeted  Miss  Marjorie  with  conventional 
blandness.  She,  however,  appeared  more  interested 
in  a  certain  bit  of  information  she  had  just  received 
than  in  him. 

"  Oh,  Sir  Archibald,"  she  exclaimed,  "  James 
here  tells  me  the  wonderful  Goldberg  pearls  have 
been  stolen!  A  thief  or  thieves  entered  the  house 
last  night." 

Bam  ford  started,  and  looked  at  the  girl.  In  her 
hand  were  scissors  with  which  to  cut  flowers;  she 
wore  no  hat.  "  Stolen  ?  "  he  repeated  crisply,  his 
glance  shifting  quickly  to  the  chauffeur.  "  Ex- 
plain yourself,  my  man." 

"  That's  all  there  is  to  explain,  Sir  Archibald." 
The  answer  came  a  little  stiffly.  An  American 
chauffeur  is  not  a  British  flunkey,  and  the  sharp  and 
autocratic  "  my  man  "  jarred,  perhaps,  on  the  na- 
tional spirit.  "  Every  one  down  in  the  village  tells 
a  different  story,  but  the  gist  of  it  is,  the  pearls  are 
gone." 

"  And  you  didn't  learn  anything  more  definite 
than  that  ?  "  impatiently. 

"  Not  even  when  they  were  taken,  James,  and  — 


1 88  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

if  they  had  any  clue  to  the  miscreants?  "  added  his 
young  mistress. 

"  I  didn't  stop  to  try  to  learn  further  details, 
Miss  Wood,"  returned  the  man,  "  as  I  had  to  come 
back  at  once  with  this,"  nodding  toward  a  suit- 
case in  the  car.  "  There  was  a  detective  from  New 
York  at  the  inn;  a  Mr.  Bulger  or  Bolger.  They 
had  evidently  sent  post-haste  for  him.  But  he 
wasn't  saying  anything." 

Sir  Archibald  swished  rather  hard  with  his  heavy 
stick  at  the  foliage ;  obviously  the  chauffeur's  incom- 
plete account  annoyed  him. 

"  Oh,  I  did  hear  some  one  say  the  burglar  might 
have  been  a  gentleman  —  one  of  the  guests,"  ob- 
served the  driver  of  the  car  suddenly. 

"  What  an  impossible  conclusion !  "  exclaimed  the 
girl. 

Sir  Archibald  looked  at  her  more  sharply.  Ther° 
were  shadows  beneath  her  eyes  —  eloquent  of 
what  ?  Sleeplessness  ?  The  proud  face  might  have 
seemed  paler  than  its  wont,  save  for  the  rose-col- 
ored gown  which  imparted  to  it  a  subtle  reflection 
of  its  warmth.  She  had  cut  but  one  or  two  flowers, 
which  she  wore.  They,  too,  were  of  a  red  tone. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          189 

He  flattered  himself  he  was  a  profound  student 
of  womankind;  any  strong  and  particular  feeling 
he  might  entertain  for  one  of  them  could  not  cast 
a  glamour  over  his  perspicacity.  Love  might  be  a 
garden  of  delight,  but  the  rational  being,  especially 
an  Englishman,  treads  it  with  his  eyes  open.  Sir 
Archibald's  now  were  lazily  alert,  sleepy,  almost 
reminding  one  of  a  big  cat's.  They  disconcerted 
Marjorie  Wood,  at  that  moment,  for  some  inex- 
plicable reason,  as  if  they  were  plunging  deep,  deep 
into  hers,  to  wrest  from  her  something.  What? 

"  I  hardly  agree  with  you,"  she  heard  him  say 
with  a  slight  smile,  as  if  conscious  of  his  own  power. 
"  About  it's  being  impossible,  don't  you  know  ? 
For  my  part,"  he  added,  "  I  find  it,  at  least,  con- 
ceivable." 

"  Do  you?  "  Her  face  was  a  little  colder.  The 
chauffeur  returned  to  his  car ;  waited  yet  a  moment, 
in  case  they  might  wish  to  speak  further  with  him. 

The  voice  of  another  approaching,  broke  in  upon 
them;  it  was  the  gardener  who  had  been  working 
in  one  of  the  beds  near  at  hand.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss  Wood,"  he  said,  with  broad  accent, 
"  but  I  could  nae  help  overhearing  what  you  were 


190  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

saying  about  the  burglars  at  the  Goldberg  house, 
and,"  he  added,  pressing  his  thin  lips  tight,  "  it's 
my  opinion  those  same  gentry  were  aroond  here 
last  night." 

"  I  don't  understand."  The  girl  looked  at  him 
quickly,  a  little  startled. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  gude  as  to  follow  me,  Miss?  " 

She  did  so,  as  did  also,  Sir  Archibald ;  the  chauf- 
feur, glancing  over  his  shoulder  as  if  he,  too,  were 
interested,  controlled,  however,  his  curiosity  and 
guided  his  car  slowly  toward  the  house. 

"  Look  at  this,  and  at  that ! "  The  gardener 
pointed  indignantly  to  one  or  two  broken  flower 
stems,  footprints  on  the  edge  of  the  soft  earthy 
beds.  "  I  raked  over  here  yesterday  just  before 
sundown  and  those  must  ha'  been  made  during  the 
night.  Who  by?" 

"  H-mm !  "  Sir  Archibald  made  a  slight  sound ; 
eyed  sidewise  the  girl. 

A  delicate  crimson  came  slowly  to  Miss  Wood's 
face.  "  How  ridiculous ! "  broke  from  her. 
"  Your  burglar  theory,  I  mean." 

"  Perhaps,  Miss,  perhaps !  "  said  the  man ;  but  his 
.countenance  showed  he  retained  his  own  opinion. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          191 

"  Let  us  see !  "  Sir  Archibald's  tone  became  live- 
lier ;  he  bent  low.  "  A  shapely,  aristocratic  foot," 
he  laughed.  "  Too  shapely  for  your  vulgar  house- 
breakers !  Unless,"  he  added,  but  he  did  not  utter 
that  which  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  saying. 
Instead,  he  indulged  once  more  in  that  enigmatic 
murmur :  "  H-mm !  " 

"  It's  making  a  great  deal  out  of  nothing,"  ex- 
claimed the  girl.  "  The  explanation  is,  no  doubt, 
very  simple,"  impetuously. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Sir  Archibald  observed  quietly,  look- 
ing up  at  her. 

She  did  not  answer;  why?  Did  something, 
covert,  in  his  gaze  hold  her  silent  ?  Last  night !  — 
the  sound !  —  they  had  heard  above !  —  Sir  Archi- 
bald —  he  had,  then  ?  —  She  pressed  a  crimson  lip 
with  her  teeth  and  held  herself  more  erect ;  annoyed ; 
irritated.  She  could  not  have  defined  exactly  her 
feeling.  She  was  about  to  speak,  more  plainly,  she 
knew  not  just  what  words ;  but  to  do  away  with  any 
further  misunderstanding  about  footprints,  or  a 
paltry  broken  rose-stem  or  two,  when  Bam  ford 
abruptly  straightened. 

"  Your   father  " —  he   observed,   looking  toward 


192          ^.THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  house.  Mr.  Wood,  on  the  front  steps,  was 
speaking  now  to  the  chauffeur. 

She  turned  quickly;  perhaps,  at  the  instant,  was 
glad  of  the  pretext  to  do  so ;  for,  murmuring  some- 
thing in  a  low  tone,  she  moved  away.  Sir  Archi- 
bald followed  with  slow  footsteps.  Mr.  Wood  had 
heard  the  story  by  the  time  they  drew  near,  and 
having  listened  to  the  meager  details,  proposed  at 
once  that  they  set  out  immediately  for  the  Gold- 
berg mansion  to  learn  what  had  taken  place.  Sir 
Archibald  hesitated ;  the  chauffeur  removed  the  suit- 
case from  the  car. 

The  Englishman's  eyes  rested  on  it  absently. 
Suddenly  his  manner  became  decisive,  and,  signify- 
ing his  intention  of  being  ready  in  a  moment  to  ac- 
company them,  he  turned  and  entered  the  house. 

Chatfield  Bruce,  from  one  of  his  windows  in 
the  second  story  of  the  wing,  had  seen  the  car  turn 
into  the  grounds  of  the  Wood  estate,  and  now,  not 
long  after,  he  observed  it  go  out  once  more  and 
noted  the  occupants.  As  the  sound  of  the  motor 
receded  down  the  road,  he  rang  the  bell  sharply. 
Simpson  answered. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          193 

"  My  suit-case,  that  was  brought  from  the  inn  — 
send  it  up  here." 

"  Very  well,  sir.     I'll  see  to  it  myself,  sir." 

But  time  passed;  the  young  man  pressed  the  bell 
again,  impatiently. 

When,  at  length,  Simpson  did  return,  his  coun- 
tenance was  troubled,  his  manner,  gravely  apolo- 
getic. He  regretted  the  circumstance;  some  mis- 
take must  have  been  made,  for  the  suit-case  could 
not,  at  the  moment,  be  found.  Presumably,  it  had 
been  forgotten  and  left  in  the  motor. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Bruce,  regarding  him  keenly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  somewhat  taken 
aback. 

"  And  I  yours !  "  laughed  the  young  man.  There 
was  no  mistaking  this  old  servant's  rectitude. 
"  You  are  positive  you  have  made  a  thorough 
search?  Yes?  Then,  you  may  go,  and  —  thank 
you,  Simpson." 

"  You  are  quite  welcome,  sir ;  but  I'll  have  an- 
other look  around,  and  if — "  He  started  to  open 
the  door;  through  the  crack  Bruce  became  suddenly 
aware  of  a  lurking  figure  which  moved  quickly 
away.  Sir  Archibald's  valet!  Had  he,  too,  then, 


194  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

been  pressed  into  new  service,  that  of  watching, 
spying  upon  him? 

Bruce  laughed.  "  Don't  bother  any  more  about 
the  suit-case.  It'll  only  be  a  waste  of  time.  I 
hardly  think  you'll  find  it  until  the  car  returns." 
And  as  Simpson  again  moved  away,  the  latest  guest 
laughed  once  more. 

At  the  tragic-comic  conclusion!  Or,  predica- 
ment? The  loss  of  a  suit-case!  Sir  Archibald 
was  showing  himself  rather  fine  and  subtle.  Pos- 
sibly, even,  the  big  Englishman  understood  a  joke, 
and  was  smiling  to  himself  now,  as  he  sped  down  the 
road.  But  for  Bruce,  it  was  no  smiling  matter; 
he  remained  here  a  prisoner,  at  the  moment  when 
he  wished  most  for  his  freedom. 

He  looked  again  out  of  his  window.  At  a  cor- 
ner of  the  veranda,  a  shadow,  which  might  have 
been  a  man's,  athwart  the  boards,  moved  slightly. 
Below,  the  flowers  nodded  at  him,  but  he  remained 
oblivious  to  the  dancing  consociation  of  gay  colors. 
A  hearty  breakfast  had  given  him  new  strength. 
His  pulses  throbbed  protestingly  for  action.  But 
what  should  he  do  ?  What  could  he  do  ? 

His  restless  glance,  roaming  aimlessly,  fell  upon 


AN  UNEXPECTED  FINALE          195 

the  discarded  evening  clothes;  continued  to  linger 
on  the  garments.  An  expression,  oddly  whimsical, 
played  about  his  lips.  "  When  between  Scylla  and 
Charybdis  " —  his  eyes  shone  with  abrupt  decision 
— "  one  must  steer  a  course,  somewhat  precipitous." 
To  conclude,  with  Chatfield  Bruce,  was  to  act;  he 
did  so,  quickly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   DISCOVERY 

MR.  WOOD  and  his  party  set  out  in  their  car 
prepared  to  arrive  at  a  place  of  repining; 
they  reached,  instead,  the  gay  terrace  of  a  palace 
of  rejoicing.  Mr.  Goldberg,  one  of  the  most  ani- 
mated among  those  sauntering  and  talking  there, 
radiated  satisfaction;  his  wife's  countenance  shone 
with  kindred  emotion ;  his  daughter's  aspect  was  the 
antithesis  to  that  of  a  drooping  Niobe.  Miss  Mar- 
jorie  Wood  and  Sir  Archibald  surveyed  them  in 
some  surprise;  Mr.  Wood  was  not  so  observant. 

"  We  called,"  he  remarked  in  his  fine  stately 
manner,  as  the  car  drew  up  near  the  front  portico, 
"  to  tender  our  condolences,  and  incidentally,  our 
services.  As  one  of  the  oldest  residents  at  Com- 
scot,  allow  me  to  observe  the  neighborhood  has 
heretofore  enjoyed  an  unimpeachable  reputation." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Goldberg,  waving 
his  hand  lightly.  "  We  don't  mind  a  little  episode 

196 


A  DISCOVERY  197 

like  that  of  last  night!"  with  airy  jocularity. 
"Pearls?  Poof!" 

Mr.  Wood  stared  in  mild  amazement.  Sir  Archi- 
bald inserted  a  monocle.  Miss  Goldberg,  unable  to 
contain  herself  longer,  burst  forth  with  the  glorious 
news :  "  Do  not  mind  him !  "  she  said  indulgently. 
'  The  pearls  have  been  found !  " 

"  Eh  ?  What !  I  mean,  congratulations !  "  mur- 
mured Mr.  Wood. 

"  By  Jove !  Oh,  I  say !  "—  The  single  glass  fell 
from  the  Englishman's  eye;  his  surprise,  now, 
seemed  even  greater  than  that  of  the  others';  his 
jaw  sagged. 

"Yes;  Mr.  Bolger  found  them."  The  speaker 
was  Miss  Flossie;  she  directed  her  words  to  Sir 
Archibald,  rather  than  to  the  others. 

He  did  not  reply;  a  slight  contraction  manifested 
itself  on  his  brow.  Of  course,  there  could  be  no 
mistake;  the  faces  around  him  were  more  eloquent 
than  words,  and  proclaimed  the  tidings  with  irre- 
futable certainty.  And  yet  ?  —  Here,  again,  was 
chance  interfering  with  his  checker-board,  muster- 
ing the  pieces  with  new  fantastic  groupings.  The 
pearls  found ! 


198  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Don't  you  believe  those  women-folks !  "  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Goldberg  in  colossal  high  spirits.  "  It's, 
only  one  of  their  little  hallucinations ! " 

Whereupon  the  feminine  contingent  referred  to, 
laughed;  a  happy  laugh.  The  host  of  Comscot 
mansion  might  be  in  as  facetious  a  mood  as  he 
wished  at  that  moment;  they  humored  him  gladly. 

"  Will  you  kindly  unravel  this  tangle,  Miss 
Burke  ?  "  said  Sir  Archibald  slowly. 

Miss  Flossie  looked  at  him,  then  at  Marjorie 
Wood.  "  I  will  try  to,"  she  answered.  "  But  first,, 
tell  me,"  with  light  irrelevancy,  somewhat  forced, 
"  how  is  your  gallant  rescuer,  this  morning,  Miss 
Wood?" 

"I  —  we  did  not  see  Mr.  Bruce  before  leaving 
the  house,"  replied  the  other  with  a  touch  of  con- 
straint. "  It  was  best  not  to  disturb  him,  you  see." 

"  No  doubt  he  passed  a  restless  enough  night," 
put  in  Sir  Archibald,  with  a  casual  glance  at  Mar- 
jorie Wood's  profile. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Miss  Flossie's  green  eyes  seemed  to 
gage  more  than  casually  the  speaker ;  his  face,  how- 
ever, was  mask-like. 

"  As  you  did  here,"  he  observed,  studying  her 


A  DISCOVERY  199 

in  turn  — "  unless  I  am  mistaken.  But  the  story  — 
and  from  the  beginning,  if  you  please.  Consider 
our  impatience,  Miss  Burke." 

She  told  of  the  night's  happenings,  with  reserva- 
tions. Occasionally  he  interjected  a  question,  in  a 
seemingly  careless  tone,  but  his  queries  were  perti- 
nent, once  or  twice,  in  the  least  disconcerting.  Her 
lids  narrowed;  she  experienced  a  vague  wonder. 
He  set  little  traps  in  cross-examination  for  her; 
she  evaded  them  with  feminine  adroitness. 

No;  she  had  not  seen  the  intruder's  face.  Well, 
any  part  of  him  —  his  back,  his  feet,  his  hands? 
The  key-hole,  Sir  Archibald  buoyantly  suggested, 
had  been  there ;  was  she  above  the  weakness  of  cer- 
tain of  her  sex?  That  "certain,"  she  laughingly 
replied,  constituted  for  him  a  saving  clause;  but, 
with  scoffing  accent,  he  had  only  just  escaped  seri- 
ously offending  her.  A  key-hole,  forsooth! 

Yet  even  as,  without  actually  disclaiming,  she 
lightly  waved  the  suggestion  aside,  he  could  not 
but  note  how  she  forbore  to  answer  directly.  Nor 
could  he,  unless  inexcusably  insistent,  force  an  issue; 
deftly  she  eluded  him,  as  a  winged  creature  the 
too  eager  etomologist.  And,  at  the  same  time,  he 


200  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

felt  the  green  surface  lights  of  her  gay  glance  pry- 
ing into  his  eyes;  she  was  a  very  deep  young 
woman,  he  mentally  concluded.  But  what  motive 
could  be  hers  in  holding  back,  for  only  the  moment 
perhaps,  anything,  however  small?  In  what  way 
did  the  thread  of  her  personality  interweave  itself 
in  this  already  complex  and  many-colored  tissue  of 
events  ? 

He  reverted  from  the  question  of  the  identity  of 
the  intruder  to  the  surprising  sequence,  the  climax 
which  had  first  greeted  them  on  the  bright  lawn  to- 
day. Personally,  he  had  felt  like  one  who  reads 
the  act  of  a  play  backward.  The  scenes  leading 
to  the  culmination  were  very  simple;  Miss  Flossie 
narrated  them  with  graphic  ease. 

After  the  miscreant  had  fled  from  the  Page 
house  (fancy  his  having  found  refuge  in  her  uncle's 
place!)  he  got  into  the  grounds  next  door.  There 
Mr.  Bolger  caught  up  to  him,  but  the  fellow  again 
fought  desperately  and  got  away.  But  in  the  tussle, 
he  dropped,  or  lost,  the  pearls;  anyhow,  the  detec- 
tive afterward  found  them  and  brought  them  with 
him  to  Mr.  Goldberg,  who  (Miss  Flossie's  light 
head  nodded  toward  that  last  named  gentleman)  at 


A  DISCOVERY  201 

this  moment  had  them  once  more  safely  in  his  pos- 
session. 

Sir  Archibald  pondered ;  where  was  the  weakness 
in  the  story?  There  seemed  none. 

"  But  could  not  Mr.  Bolger  or  any  of  the  others 
tell  what  the  fellow  looked  like  ?  "  he  asked  finally. 
"  Was  he  heavy  or  slight,  short  or  tall  ?  " 

"  In  the  darkness  it  was  not  easy  to  discern  very 
much,"  answered  Miss  Flossie.  "  It  is  generally 
conceded,  however,  he  wore  an  evening  suit." 

"  Then  he  w as  one  of  the  guests,"  murmured  Sir 
Archibald,  with  glance  still  resting  on  Marjorie 
Wood. 

"  Easy  enough  for  any  one  to  get  a  dress-suit," 
interjected  Mr.  Goldberg.  "  Plenty  of  places  that 
rent  them.  I  don't  attach  any  importance  to  the 
fact  he  had  evening  togs  on.  He  knew  he  had  to 
hide  or  lurk  around  the  house,  somewhere,  before 
making  his  attempt;  if  he  came  properly  dressed 
and  the  servants  happened  to  run  across  him,  they 
wouldn't  think  so  much  of  it  on  account  of  his 
clothes.  People  sometimes,"  jocosely,  "  are  apt  to 
be  a  bit  erratic  after  a  champagne  supper." 

But  Sir  Archibald,  it  could  be  seen,  maintained 


202  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

his  own  opinion,  though  he  remained  silent,  con- 
tenting himself  with  a  shrug  of  his  big  shoulders. 
There  were,  Mr.  Goldberg  cheerfully  went  on,  other 
peculiar  features  to  the  case ;  to  wit,  the  mysterious 
voice  calling  out  to  direct  the  pursuers  just  after 
the  fellow  had  fled  the  house  and  was  speeding 
toward  the  road.  What  had  become  of  the  un- 
known assistant  ?  Who  was  he  and  why  had  he  so 
completely  vanished?  Why  also  had  one  of  the 
Chinese  servants?  The  Englishman's  face  had  be- 
come graver  as  he  listened.  His  secretary!  Sir 
Archibald  was  thinking  of  Caglioni,  of  a  more  tor- 
tile element,  savoring  of  the  Orient,  subtly  intro- 
duced into  the  case. 

While  talking,  they  had  been  walking  toward  that 
point  where  the  sparsely  wooded  park  began.  As  in 
a  dream,  Marjorie  Wood  again  looked  down  into  the 
valley.  How  different  it  appeared,  than  when  she 
had  stood  there,  only  the  night  before,  with  Chatfield 
Bruce !  Now  the  landscape  lay  bathed  in  a  glorious, 
golden  light.  Every  house  afar  showed  plainly  in 
embowering  garden  and  orchard;  beyond,  the 
ocean  lay  in  shining  somnolence. 


A  DISCOVERY  203 

Pearls !  —  fleeing  people !  —  detectives !  —  mid- 
night marauders !  — 

As  from  way  off,  the  voices  of  the  others  came 
to  her;  in  a  vague  hum  and  buzz  of  talk.  Miss 
Flossie's  purring  accents  flowed  like  the  demulcent 
strains  of  a  soprano  in  a  concerted  piece;  they 
mingled  with  Sir  Archibald's  basso;  gave  way  be- 
fore Mr.  Goldberg's  stridency. 

From  the  girl's  brow,  the  caressing  breeze  swept 
back  the  dark  hair.  She  did  not  seek  to  analyze  her 
thought,  but  continued  to  look  out,  down  the  hillside, 
marked  here  and  there  by  a  road  like  a  silver  ribbon, 
half-crumpled,  unfolding  haphazard  fashion,  to  the 
village.  Her  eyes  followed  its  course;  she  was 
aware  now  of  a  few  words  in  a  more  acute  mas- 
culine pitch :  "  Here,  the  fellow  sprang  down ; 
here,  he  started  his  flight." 

Suddenly  something  at  her  feet,  in  the  grass, 
caught  her  down-bent  glance,  something  bright  and 
gleaming,  which  might  have  been  passed  unseen 
many  times  by  many  others,  unless  chancing  to 
stand  at  the  exact  angle  to  receive  the  glimmer  of 
the  sunshine  reflected  from  it. 


204  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Mar j one  Wood  stooped  and  picked  up  the  object, 
regarding  it,  first  in  surprise,  then  with  growing 
amazement.  Her  lips  parted  in  a  low,  quick  ex- 
clamation. She  could  not  believe,  and  yet  her  gaze 
rested  again  on  it  in  the  palm  of  her  hand  —  an 
object  she  knew,  recognized,  was  not  mistaken 
about ! 

"  How  ever  did  it  come  here?  "  Her  figure  sud- 
denly stiffened.  The  sea  threw  its  lights  in  her 
eyes,  but  they  looked  abruptly  beyond,  into  un- 
fathomable depths. 

"  Are  you  so  absorbed  in  the  view  ?  " 

"  Or,  have  you  discovered  some  clue  to  the  mys- 
tery?" 

Voices  broke  in  upon  her;  Sir  Archibald's; 
Flossie's.  Her  hand  closed  hard;  the  sharp  edges 
of  something  metallic  hurt  her  fingers,  as  she  held 
them  to  her  side,  but  she  managed  to  laugh. 

"  Yes,  and  no.  Who  wouldn't  be  lost  in  admira- 
tion of  the  view?  " 

Sir  Archibald's  gaze  clouded.  Her  words  re- 
called, on  a  sudden,  over-sharply,  the  night  before  — 
a  shadowy  form  at  the  girl's  side,  a  man's  figure, 


A  DISCOVERY  205 

tall  and  straight,  his  face,  eager,  sedulous.  But 
Miss  Flossie's  keen  look  seemed  to  have  seen  more 
than  he  had.  It  followed  the  white  hand  as  it  fell 
and  lingered  to  survey  the  folds  of  the  fluttering 
gown  which  half-concealed  the  girl's  fingers  and 
wrist.  Miss  Wood  did  not  turn  toward  the  two ; 
at  that  moment,  her  father  and  others  approached; 
she  mingled  quickly  with  them.  Again  Bam  ford 
heard  her  laugh  gaily,  too  gaily. 

At  his  side,  Miss  Flossie  hummed ;  her  full  red 
lips  were  curved  to  a  smile. 

"  What  is  your  theory,  Sir  Archibald  ?  "  she  said 
softly.  "  I  have  been  told  you  have  had  experi- 
ences for  your  government  in  solving  many  intricate 
and  puzzling  matters." 

"  Who  said  that  ?  "  At  the  moment  she  acted 
more  as  an  irritant  than  an  anodyne. 

"  I  couldn't  really  tell  you  just  who,"  she  laughed. 
"  But  you  are  interested ;  very  much  interested, 
aren't  you  ?  "  shrewdly. 

He  experienced  an  indefinite  suspicion  he  was,  in 
the  vernacular,  being  "  sounded "  and,  perhaps, 
asked  himself  why  this  young  person  had  selected 


206  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

him  for  her  inquisitorial  purpose?  He  forgot  his 
own  close  interrogations  of  her  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore; tentatively  drifted. 

"  Last  night's  affair  was  a  very  bungling  job, 
was  it  not  ?  "  he  drawled,  looking  into  eyes  that 
seemed  to  invite  fuller  inspection.  "  The  person  all 
New  York  has  been  talking  about  —  who  has 
Claude  Duval,  Dick  Turpin,  and  all  the  other  gentle- 
men, classic  or  modern,  '  beaten  to  a  finish ' — 
couldn't  have  been  concerned  it  in,  could  he  now  ?  " 
in  an  ingenuous  murmur.  "  And  yet,  the  pearls 
should  have  proved  for  him  a  proper  bait,  as  the 
saying  is." 

"  They  were  well  enough  advertised  in  the  news- 
papers, before  the  event!  "  she  flashed  back.  "  The 
person  you  speak  of  must  have  known." 

"  And  resisted  the  temptation  to  come  here  ?  " 

"Naturally!"  her  eyes  narrowing.  "Since  the 
affair  was  so  bunglingly  handled  and  the  pearls 
zvere  so  easily  recovered !  " 

Sir  Archibald  looked  at  her  closer.  "  Possibly,'* 
he  said,  "  it  is  you  who  have  a  theory?  " 

"  I  ?     Oh,  dear,  no !  "  she  answered  hastily. 

A  moment,  confronting  each  other,  he  fancied  a 


A  DISCOVERY  207 

lightning  in  her  eyes,  as  he  had  seen  the  green  stone 
of  an  idol's  suddenly  flash  when  the  sun  touched  it. 
And  again  came  the  question  he  had  asked  himself 
before :  What  did  she  know  that  she  was  keeping 
from  him  and  the  others?  Sir  Archibald  suddenly 
shrugged  his  shoulders;  n'importe! 

"  Well,  I  will  be  frank  and  plead  guilty  to  en- 
tertaining a  little  one,  myself,"  he  remarked  lightly. 
"  A  theory,  I  mean."  And  bowing,  he  turned 
from  her  and  walked  away. 

The  host,  with  Mr.  Wood  and  Mr.  Bolger,  who 
had  again  appeared,  were  at  that  moment  "  talking 
it  over  "  in  a  little  summer  house.  On  the  table 
rested  a  bottle  of  Moselle  and  some  strong  Havanas. 
The  detective  spoke  proudly;  it  was  his  privilege. 
True,  the  miscreant  had  slipped  from  his  hands; 
but  to  him,  Bolger,  lay  the  credit  of  the  fellow's 
not  having  got  away  with  the  spoils.  It  was  more 
than  a  half -victory,  where  the  booty  had  been  so 
considerable;  it  constituted  a  great  triumph  in  the 
detective's  own  estimation  of  his  accomplishment. 

Sir  Archibald,  who  had  quietly  drawn  near, 
paused;  his  rather  massive  figure  threw  a  shadow 
across  the  table.  His  heavy  face  seemed  expres- 


208  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

sionless;  he  held  a  half -consumed  cigarette  in  his 
fingers  as  he  listened  phlegmatically.  Bolger  did 
most  of  the  talking.  His  countenance  was  flushed, 
and  he  exhaled  big,  generous  whiffs  of  smoke. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Goldberg,"  Sir  Archibald  in- 
terrupted in  soft,  lazy  tones,  "  you  have  the  pearls, 
so  unexpectedly  restored,  with  you  ?  " 

"  Right  here !  "  said  Mr.  Goldberg  tapping  his 
breast.  "  Hereafter,  I  eat,  sleep  and  drink  with 
them  until  they  are  safely  tucked  away  in  New 
York." 

"  Ah !  —  May  I  look  at  them?  " 

The  host  at  once  took  out  a  case,  opened  it  and 
would  have  passed  it  with  the  contents,  to  Sir 
Archibald.  But  the  latter  waved  it  away.  "  No ; 
no,"  he  laughed.  "  I  said  '  look.'  You  may  hold 
them  yourself,  Mr.  Goldberg.  I  call  these  gentle- 
men to  witness,"  lightly,  "  my  fingers  have  not 
come  in  contact  with  them." 

"  I  guess  I  can  trust  an  English  nobleman — • 
especially  when  my  own  eyes  are  on  him,"  observed 
Mr.  Goldberg  facetiously. 

"  But  for  my  own  sake !  "  Sir  Archibald's  gaze 
was,  in  the  least,  brighter ;  he  puffed  at  his  cigarette. 


A  DISCOVERY  209 

"  This  case  which  seems  bound  to  become  cclebre 
is  already  sufficiently  involved." 

"  Seems  very  simple  to  me,"  interposed  Bolger, 
with  a  touch  of  importance.  "  Principal  thing  is, 
Mr.  Goldberg's  got  his  pearls  back ! " 

"  Indeed  ?  "  Sir  Archibald  bent  over  the  opened 
leather  case  held  out  for  his  inspection;  a  faint 
smile  came  to  his  lips.  He  looked  at  the  gleaming 
white  rope  closer  and  sat  down.  Through  the  hazy 
spirals,  floating  from  his  lips,  he  had  once  more, 
across  the  lawn,  caught  sight  of  Marjorie  Wood. 
She  talked  with  a  number  of  people,  but  her  hands 
were  closed  tightly.  His  gaze  sharpened.  He 
would  have  sworn  she  hardly  saw  those  she  spoke 
with.  Why  ? 

Mr.  Goldberg's  ever-recurrent  question  jarred  on 
a  train  of  speculation :  "  Well,  Sir  Archibald,  what 
do  you  think  of  them?  " 

"  The  pearls  ?  Oh !  "  He  started ;  flecked  deftly 
the  ash  from  his  cigarette.  "  You  want  a  frank 
opinion  ?  " 

"Frank?"  There  was  an  accent  of  surprise  in 
the  host's  voice.  "  Of  course !  " 

"  Did  you  ever,"  said  Sir  Archibald  deliberately, 


210  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"hear  of  Manchu  pearls?"  Mr.  Goldberg  stared, 
and  Bam  ford  went  on.  "  A  very  clever  people," 
musingly,  "  who  have  learned  to  insert  tiny  matrices 
of  brass  or  bone  in  the  valves  of  the  molusk  and 
then  plant  the  shells  in  the  streams  behind  their 
gardens,  and  wait  for  results.  Afterward,  by  an 
ingenious  process,  the  matrices  are  removed,  the 
cavity  filled  with  wax  and  neatly  sealed.  Pearls 
from  Soo-choo,"  with  a  laugh,  "  that  are  well  cal- 
culated to  deceive ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Get  to  the  point!  "  Mr. 
Goldberg  threw  courteous  manner  to  the  winds. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Sir  Archibald  calmly,  "  that 
these  pearls  you  have  just  shown  me  were  grown 
in  such  fashion  as  I  have  described.  As  for  their 
value  " —  he  snapped  his  fingers  — "  I  wouldn't  give 
you  a  ten  pound  note  for  them !  " 

Mr.  Goldberg  leaped  to  his  feet;  Mr.  Bolger's 
eyes  protruded.  Sir  Archibald  alone  sat  appar- 
ently unmoved. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CURRENTS  AND   COUNTER-CURRENTS 

CHATFIELD  BRUCE  folded  his  dress-suit 
neatly;  in  fact,  he  seemed  to  enter  upon  the 
task  with  great  care  and  scrupulousness.  He 
wound  the  garments  around  with  heavy  sheets  of 
light  brown  paper  which  he  tied  into  a  compact 
parcel  with  good  stout  twine.  He  had  been  some- 
what particular  about  the  quality  of  the  paper,  that 
it  should  be  strong  enough;  and  the  twine  he  had 
tested  before  using.  The  knots  he  had  drawn  very 
taut,  but  even  then,  surveying  his  handiwork,  there 
appeared  a  dubious  look  in  his  eyes  which  he  seemed 
to  endeavor  to  conceal  from  Simpson,  standing  re- 
spectfully near.  Toward  that  individual  he  assumed 
a  light  manner,  asking  his  views  in  the  matter. 
Would  the  parcel  do? 

Mr.  Wood's  man  thought  it  certainly  would  do 
and  expressed  the  opinion  it  was  an  exceedingly 

211 


212  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

creditable  and  secure  bit  of  work  in  that  line  for  a 
gentleman. 

"  Ah,  but,"  said  Mr.  Bruce  deprecatorily,  "  I  can 
not  claim  to  be  altogether  a  novice;  what  is  it  the 
poet  says  about  our  playing  many  parts?  And  I 
have  done  up  a  parcel,  or  two,  before,  in  my  time. 
But  breathe  it  not  in  Gotham,  I  mean,  in  Britain,  or 
to  British  ears;  I  would  not  have  Sir  Archibald 
know,  good  Simpson ! "  with  a  tragic  gesture. 
'  You  are  the  trusted  guardian  of  my  dread  secret." 

Simpson  smiled  at  Chatfield  Bruce's  last  whim- 
sical asservation.  He  detected  only  an  easy  spon- 
taneity in  those  tones ;  was  pleased  to  see  the  other 
in  such  good  humor ;  and  with  his  arm  paining  him, 
too,  no  doubt.  A  game  one,  this  latest  guest, 
ruminated  Mr.  Wood's  man,  who  could  treat  you 
like  a  human  being,  if  you  please,  and  not  an 
automaton ;  and  yet  all  the  while  let  you  know  your 
position,  and  his.  Mentally,  perhaps,  Simpson 
compared  him,  with  his  light  cheery  ways,  to  Sir 
Archibald,  whose  manner  of  ordering  people  about 
as  if  they  were  so  many  "  China  boys  "  had  rather 
got  on  the  nerves  of  some  of  the  serving  staff. 
Moreover,  the  rumor  of  Mr.  Bruce's  exploit  had 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  213 

sifted  through  the  servants'  quarters,  and  he  who 
had  sprung  to  Miss  Marjorie's  rescue  became  there 
elevated  to  an  especial  pedestal  of  his  own. 

"  Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Simpson,"  went  on  the 
young  man,  his  eyes  returning  quickly  to  the  bundle. 
"  But  you  know  how  it  is,  when  you  have  only 
one  evening  suit  to  your  name,  and  that's  been 
damaged." 

"  In  a  good  cause,  sir !  " 

Bruce  raised  his  hand.  "  Don't !  "  he  said,  in  a 
slightly  altered  tone.  And  Simpson  knew  he  meant 
it. 

Mr.  Bruce  did  not  want,  at  the  moment,  to  think 
of  Marjorie  Wood.  Had  he  not  figuratively  de- 
termined to  close  his  eyes  to  her ;  only  to  learn  that 
the  mind  has  its  own  especial  retina  whereon  faces, 
or  a  face,  may  come  and  go,  persistently,  tantaliz- 
ingly,  playing  hide-and-seek  with  the  brain,  now 
calling  out,  as  it  were,  "  Come  and  find  me  " ;  then, 
dancing  away  with  illusive  sparkle  of  starlike  eyes 
and  musical  mocking  laughter?  Or,  was  the  last 
but  the  breeze  tossing  the  myriad  leaves  of  the 
poplar,  near  by,  making  merry  with  a  million  and 
one  shining  cymbals?  Bruce  looked  at  them  now, 


214  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

all  the  lightness,  the  daredevil  luster  gone  from 
his  eyes. 

Without  on  the  veranda  a  shadow  stirred,  the 
dark  outline  of  the  figure  of  a  man,  Sir  Archibald's 
valet,  holding  close  to  the  side  of  the  house,  peering, 
listening,  now,  to  Simpson's  voice  that  next  was 
heard : 

"The  address,  sir?" 

"Of  course!"  From  where  Bruce  stood,  near 
the  partly  opened  window,  the  shadow  of  the  eaves- 
dropper on  the  veranda  floor  became  visible;  but 
if  the  young  man  was  aware  of  it  he  gave  no  sign. 
It  was  not  easy  to  discern  from  the  crude,  shapeless 
dark  outline  that  the  source  of  the  silhouette  was  a 
person.  Bruce  turned  and  picked  up  a  pen,  his 
manner  again  blithe,  animated.  "  There !  Do  you 
make  that  out  ?  " 

"  It's  Chinese." 

The  man  outside  caught  the  bewilderment  in 
Simpson's  tones,  and  Bruce's  seemingly  gay  answer : 

"  Well,  we'll  also  put  it  in  good  American,  lest 
the  officials  of  the  express  company  at  Comscot  and 
New  York  are  only  learned  in  that  language  and 
Irish.  But  didn't  you  ever  hear,  Simpson  " —  was 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  2 1 5 

the  allcgresse  in  his  tones  the  least  forced? — "  that 
the  Chinese  are  among  the  best  tailors  and  costu- 
miers in  the  world?  To  them,  hie  your  true  foreign 
dandiprats  of  the  Far  East,"  with  a  vivacious 
gesture.  "  While,  when  it  comes  to  '  touching  up  ' 
a  suit,  a  bit  the  worse  for  wear,  or  accident,  they 
possess  a  positive  genius;  they  can  even  hide  a 
patch!" 

"  Not  necessary  in  this  case,  sir,  I  trust,"  re- 
turned the  responsive  and  sympathetic  Simpson. 

Bruce  handed  Mr.  Wood's  man  the  parcel,  but 
his  ringers  seemed  yet  to  linger  on  it  as  he  delivered 
a  few  last  instructions.  Simpson  was  quite  sure 
he  had  no  objection  to  taking  it  personally  to  the 
little  express  office  in  the  village? 

That  worthy  answered  positively;  he  had  other 
business,  in  connection  with  household  matters, 
needing  attending  to  at  once  in  the  town,  and  he 
would  be  pleased  to  forward  the  package,  by  ex- 
press, to  the  address  given. 

Simpson  went;  the  young  man  heard  the  door 
close.  The  fellow  on  the  veranda  also  heard  the 
sound,  and  glided  swiftly  away.  Bruce  now  stepped 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  and  around. 


216  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

No  one  was  there;  he  breathed  deeply.  With 
relief?  A  new  impending  sense  of  danger?  He 
smiled  grimly;  but  the  maid  who  several  moments 
later  entered,  to  remove  the  breakfast  dishes,  found 
him  seated,  apparently  unconcerned,  in  the  heavy 
dressing-gown,  at  a  window,  in  his  hand,  the  little 
volume  that  had  slipped  from  Miss  Wood's  fingers 
the  night  before  in  the  library.  The  sunshine 
bathed  him.  At  first  occupied  with  his  own 
thoughts,  he  hardly  saw  the  young  woman  with 
the  tray.  Inadvertently  she  rattled  the  dishes ;  then 
he  looked  at  her,  but  as  from  a  great  distance. 

Meanwhile,  Simpson,  having  made  ready,  pre- 
pared to  issue  forth  on  his  journey  to  the  town. 
A  brisk  walk  to  and  from  the  village  had  been  a 
detail  of  his  daily  program  during  the  many  sum- 
mers he  had  served  at  Comscot;  the  trip  back  and 
forth  kept  him  young.  Also,  truth  to  tell,  Simpson, 
although  a  seemingly  unobservant  and  introspective 
person,  while  engaged  in  the  performance  of  his 
household  duties,  was  not  above,  or  averse  to,  a 
bit  of  gossip  with  the  postmistress,  or  the  station- 
master;  it  was  the  prospect  of  this,  as  well  as  his 
entire  willingness  to  serve  Mr.  Bruce,  that  acceler- 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  217 

ateq  his  pace  when  he  started  to  go  down  into  the 
world. 

But  as  he  stepped  briskly  out  now  along  the 
path,  which  led  to  a  certain  little  by-way  he  al- 
ways took,  his  progress  was  abruptly  arrested  at 
sight  of  a  figure  crossing  the  lawn  toward  the 
house,  at  an  angle  which  brought  him  nearer.  It 
was  Sir  Archibald's  secretary,  and  he  looked  hag- 
gard, more  yellow,  thoroughly  "  done  up." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  said  Simpson  to  himself.  To 
Caglioni,  he  observed :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
but  Sir  Archibald  said  you  had  decided  to  keep 
your  room." 

"  Did  he,  indeed  ?  "  snapped  the  secretary. 

"  That  you  were  not  very  well !  "  added  the  other 
wonderingly.  This  he  could  well  believe,  by  the 
evidence  of  his  eyes;  also,  by  the  humor  the  odd, 
foreign-looking  man  was  in.  His  eyes  had  an  ugly 
gleam;  his  white  teeth,  showing  between  thin, 
drawn  lips,  seemed  more  pronounced  than  usual. 

"  Well,  I  decided  not  to  keep  to  my  room,"  re- 
marked Caglioni.  "  Speaking  of  which,"  he  went 
on  with  a  smile  which  vainly  sought  to  be  amiable, 
"  how  is  Mr.  Bruce  ?  He  is  in  his  room  ?  " 


218  THE  SOCIAL  BUCAXEER 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  feeling  rather  better,  I  should 
say,"  returned  Simpson  cheerily. 

Caglioni's  eyelids  fluttered  in  their  peculiar 
fashion.  A  few  moments  he  stood  gazing  before 
him,  as  if  forgetful  of  the  other;  then  suppressing 
any  sign  of  emotion,  asked,  in  as  casual  a  voice  as 
he  could  summon,  one  or  two  other  questions.  If 
Sir  Archibald  was  home ;  where  he  had  gone ;  when 
would  he  return? 

Simpson  answered  as  best  he  might,  and  was 
about  to  wheel,  when  the  secretary's  look  chanced 
on  the  bundle,  and  lingered  tentatively. 

"  You're  bound  for  the  village,  now,  I  suppose?  " 
he  said.  Simpson  replied  affirmatively.  "  Some- 
thing of  importance,  when  you  take  it  yourself?" 
with  a  nod  at  the  parcel. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  returned  the  man  absently. 
"Just  a  little  cleaning  and  fixing  to  be  done." 

"Oh?"  observed  Caglioni.  "For  Miss  Wood, 
I  presume?  " 

Simpson,  about  to  answer,  hesitated;  perhaps 
Mr.  Bruce  might  not  care  to  have  it  known  that  he, 
a  type  of  masculine  elegance  and  immaculate  neat- 
ness, was  sending  his  dress-suit  to  be  repaired,  or 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  219 

even,  if  necessary,  "  patched  up."  Most  young  men, 
less  fastidious,  would  have  cast  the  offending  gar- 
ments aside  and  promptly  ordered  new  clothes.  For 
Simpson  had  seen  that  the  cloth  was  actually  burned 
through  in  one  or  two  minute  places;  but  he  was 
a  frugal  mortal,  himself,  and  approved  of  that 
virtue  in  others.  The  possession  of  it  had  lifted 
Bruce  to  a  distinctive  place  in  the  old-fashioned 
servant's  estimation.  Others  of  his  set  in  over-ex- 
travagant Manhattan  town,  were  wasteful  and 
prodigal  to  a  degree  positively  sinful.  He  un- 
qualifiedly approved  of  Mr.  Wood's  latest  guest ; 
anyhow,  it  was  not  his,  Simpson's,  business  to  pro- 
claim Mr.  Bruce's  little  economies  to  one  who  had 
on  many  occasions  showed  himself,  in  a  subtle  way, 
rather  too  inquiring  and  inquisitive. 

So  Simpson  answered  quietly,  even  with  a  cer- 
tain dignity  he  could  on  occasions  assume : 

"  I  often  take  things  down  to  the  village  for 
Miss  Wood,  sir." 

As  he  passed  on,  Caglioni's  glance  suddenly 
changed;  Simpson  had  shifted  the  bundle  and  the 
secretary's  eyes  had  caught  sight  of  certain  char- 
acters on  it.  Chinese  ?  He  was  not  quite  sure ;  his 


220  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

brain  seemed  to  move  sluggishly;  he  felt  surprised; 
uncertain  what  to  do.  He  did  think  of  calling  out 
after  Simpson;  to  what  end? 

That  person's  figure  blended,  afar,  with  the 
shadowy  streaks  in  the  path;  became  now  a  part 
of  the  more  unbroken,  darker  tones  farther  on. 
There,  Caglioni  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  serv- 
ant's form;  only  that  which  he  carried  under  his 
arm,  the  compact  little  bundle,  continued  to  be 
visible  to  the  secretary's  gaze.  It,  lighter  in  hue 
than  the  garments  Simpson  wore,  yet  remained 
plainly  apparent;  Caglioni  still  saw  it,  though  the 
man,  bearing  it  away,  had  merged  into  the  back- 
ground. A  last  gleam,  and  it,  too,  finally  became 
lost  to  sight ;  ceased  to  impress  itself,  like  something 
important,  on  his  visual  organs. 

Caglioni  drew  himself  up.  "  A  little  cleaning 
and  fixing !  "  His  mind  felt  slightly  dazed.  One 
thought  predominated :  the  need  of  further  enlight- 
enment from  Sir  Archibald.  He,  the  secretary 
had  got  out  of  touch  with  events.  Simpson  had 
said  Sir  Archibald  would  return  shortly;  should 
he,  Caglioni,  go  back  to  the  house  and  wait  there, 
or —  His  thoughts  persistently  reverted  to  Simp- 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  22 1 

son.  As  he  yet  stood,  hesitating  what  course  to 
pursue,  the  sound  of  a  motor  down  the  road  de- 
cided him;  Sir  Archibald  was  returning.  Caglioni 
started  toward  the  house. 

The  secretary  met  his  employer  near  the  front 
steps.  As  that  gentleman  got  out  of  the  car,  his 
heavy  face  expressed  none  of  the  surprise  he  must 
have  felt  at  sight  of  the  other.  Had  Caglioni  been 
less  concerned,  just  then,  at  seeing  once  more  Sir 
Archibald,  he  would  have  noticed  that  Mr.  Wood's 
usually  tranquil  countenance  was  disturbed,  and  that 
a  pallor  and  a  certain  cold  apathy  marked  his  daugh- 
ter's appearance.  But  the  secretary's  gaze  was  only 
for  Sir  Archibald;  the  latter  lingered,  instead  of 
repairing  at  once  to  the  house,  and  Caglioni  waited, 
also.  Mr.  Wood,  however,  followed  his  daughter, 
who  had  descended  quickly  from  the  car,  and  en- 
tered the  house. 

"  Well  ?  "  Sir  Archibald  and  the  secretary  had 
stepped  now  aside.  "  Why  did  you  not  get  back?  " 
His  tone  veiled  a  quiet  scorn;  Caglioni  knew  his 
employer;  all  the  latter  cared  for  was  results,  not 
excuses.  Hence,  he  cut  short  his  story,  though 
strange  invectives  did  creep  into  it,  crisp  odd  phrases 


222  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

which  smacked  of  the  devilish  atmosphere  of  some 
far-away,  fan-tan  place. 

"  So  you  let  him  get  the  better  of  you?  "  The 
other  gave  a  short,  brutal  laugh.  "  He !  —  partly 
disabled !  "— 

Caglioni's  face  assumed  a  more  sickly  hue. 
"  Wait  until  I'm  done  with  him !  " 

Sir  Archibald  made  a  gesture.  "  What  happened 
next  ?  Stick  to  your  story !  " 

The  continuation  of  Caglioni's  narrative  was 
commonplace  enough.  Recovering  consciousness, 
he  had  crept  back  into  the  wooded  park.  Now  that 
Bruce  was  gone,  the  secretary  dared  not  let  his 
own  presence  be  known;  he  realized  he  could  not 
satisfactorily  account  for  how  he  himself  happened 
to  be  there,  when  his  proof  of  the  other's  presence 
and  all  that  meant  was  wanting.  So  he  had  hidden 
and  skulked,  and  was  working  his  cautious  way 
through  the  Wood  forest  when  he  had  lost  himself 
in  that  dense  tangle  of  underbrush  and  been  obliged 
to  wait  until  the  dawn  before  he  could  escape  from 
the  cursed  maze. 

Sir  Archibald  listened.  "  Enough ! "  he  said, 
and  started  to  walk  toward  the  house. 


"So  you  let  him  get  the  better  of  you?" — Page  222 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  223 

"  Wait !  "  said  Caglioni  excitedly.  "  You,  too, 
must  tell  me  all.  And  quickly!  I  have  a  reason." 

The  other  answered  impatiently.  There  was  only 
time  now  to  act 

"  You  mean  — "  A  thrill  of  venomous  joy  shone 
from  the  secretary's  eyes. 

Sir  Archibald  answered  laconically. 

"  He  has  them  here  then?  "  said  Caglioni  swiftly. 
"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  that  he  went  to  the  Goldberg  park 
last  nfght  to  get  them !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  And  those  worthless  Man- 
chu  pearls  Miss  Goldberg  wore,  how  do  you  ac- 
count — 

"  The  pearls  she  had  on  just  prior  to  our  arrival 
at  the  house  —  very  close  to  our  coming,"  iron- 
ically, "  were  her  own ;  the  celebrated  Goldberg 
pearls.  She  thought  she  had  them  still,  was  in 
blissful  ignorance  of  anything  to  the  contrary,  when 
you  observed  that  they — " 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  secretary  with  shin- 
ing eyes. 

"  I  even  fancied  I  saw  how  it  was  done,"  mur- 
mured Sir  Archibald.  "  The  fellow,  however,  is 


224  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

so  clever,  I  dared  not  be  quite  positive,  then;  it 
might  have  been  only  a  detail  of  a  very  elaborate 
scheme.  When  one  of  the  supernumeraries  is  a 
Chinaman,  the  drama  is  apt  to  be  more  involved 
than  appears  on  the  surface." 

"But  now?"  suggested  Caglioni.  The  other 
made  no  reply.  <T  Mr.  Wood  and  his  daughter  ?  " 

Bamford's  usually  apathetic  eyes  permitted  an 
unholy  gleam  for  the  instant  to  transform  them. 
"  Mr.  Wood  and  Miss  Wood  know  that  he  who 
picked  the  strong-box  got  poor  pickings;  they  also 
know  the  real  pearls  were  taken  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing by  some  one  else." 

"  Ah !  And  have  they  any  inkling  who  the  some 
one  may  be?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest  —  yet.  It  will  be  my  unpleas- 
ant task  to  enlighten  them." 

Caglioni  was  observant  now,  as  he  had  been 
the  night  before  at  the  dance.  "  Mr.  Wood  and 
Miss  Wood  seem  to  have  been  rather  taken  with 
the  fellow,"  he  remarked. 

Sir  Archibald  looked  up  to  regard  a  small  white 
cloud  slowly  dissolving.  Perhaps  the  blue  of  the 
heavens  to-day  reminded  Sir  Archibald  of  skies  far 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  225 

off  in  Italy,  where  he  had  first  met  Miss  Marjorie 
Wood. 

"  After  the  little  service  he  performed  for  Miss 
Wood,"  began  the  secretary,  "  they  will  natu- 
rally — " 

"  Of  course,  the  matter  will  have  to  be  handled 
delicately,"  returned  Bamford  softly.  "  Delicately 
and  regretfully  —  also  firmly,  as  a  diplomat  would 
treat  it ;  not,"  contemptuously,  "  a  detective !  With 
due  regard,"  spreading  out  his  big  fingers,  "  for  the 
sensitive  feelings  of  all  parties  concerned!" 

Caglioni  looked  at  his  principal  admiringly;  he 
had  learned  to  know  Sir  Archibald's  ability  in  the 
"  diplomatic  "  field ;  the  big  man  could  be  almost 
caressing  in  his  manner  when  driving  the  spike  of 
his  purpose  through  the  hard  plank  of  all  opposi- 
tion. 

"  Last  night,  I  was  in  the  dark,  not  knowing 
about  you,"  Bamford  went  on.  "  Now  — 

"  One  moment !  "  cried  the  secretary,  his  thoughts 
on  a  sudden,  more  confused,  but  the  glimmer  of 
an  idea  flashing  through  them.  "  You  have  been 
away  from  the  house;  then  you  left  him  here,, 
alone,  knowing  he  had  the  — 


226  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  I  did  not  know  it  then,"  sharply.  "  But  James 
has  had  his  instructions  to  keep  an  eye  on  him  and 
not  let  him  once  out  of  his  sight  —  to  follow  him, 
if  necessary.  And,"  smiling,  "  I  had  his  suit-case 
removed.  Which,  I  fancied,  even  without  surveil- 
lance would  be  enough  to  keep  him  and  the  pearls 
safely  indoors,  until  I  got  back." 

"  True ! "  observed  Caglioni,  in  a  more  acute 
tone.  "  But  —  desperate  straits,  you  know,  call  for 
desperate  shifts,"  he  said  suddenly.  "And  what 
if  — "  He  paused  abruptly  and  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  head. 

The  other  looked  at  him;  uttered  one  or  two 
brusk  interrogations. 

Haltingly,  as  if  uncertain  of  himself,  his  own 
suspicions,  the  secretary  replied;  spoke  of  meeting 
Simpson;  the  bundle  Mr.  Wood's  man  carried.  At 
that  Sir  Archibald  stopped  short.  The  veins  began 
to  stand  out  on  his  brow,  his  big  fingers  to  close. 

A  footstep  sounded  near  him,  but  he  did  not  hear 
it ;  the  valet  had  approached.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Sir  Archibald."  It  was  James'  voice  inter- 
rupting. "  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  at  once. 
You  told  me  not  to  let  Mr.  Bruce  out  of  my  sight, 


COUNTER-CURRENTS  227 

and  I  didn't ;  but  he  has  got  Simpson  to  take  a  parcel 
of  his  old  clothes  that  were  damaged  to  the  express 
office  in  the  village  and  — " 

"  But  Simpson  told  me  they  were  for  Miss 
Wood,"  stammered  Caglioni. 

"  I  was  outside  his  door  on  the  veranda,  sir, 
and  heard  him  give  Simpson  the  directions.  And, 
sir,  he  was  that  particular  about  the  twine  and  the 
paper,  and  all  the  rest,  for  a  lot  of  old  clothes, 
that,  thinks  I,  sir,  here's  an  exceedingly  fussy  and 
pottering  young  gentleman  — " 

"You  caught  the  address?"  Bamford  asked 
shortly,  smoldering  anger  on  his  face. 

"  No,  Sir  Archibald  —  only  that  it  was  in  Chinese, 
as  well  as — " 

"  Quick ! "  Sir  Archibald,  waving  the  valet 
sternly  aside,  out  of  ear-shot,  wheeled  on  Caglioni. 
"  Go  to  the  express  office !  Get  the  address,  or  bet- 
ter still,  the  parcel!  If  too  late,  follow  it  —  around 
the  world,  if  need  be!  "  A  suppressed  exclamation, 
like  an  anathema,  fell  from  his  lips.  "  In  this  case, 
we  have  to  get  the  '  goods '  to  get  the  man,"  he 
said.  "  You  understand  ?  There  is  not  enough 
evidence  without." 


228  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Caglioni  vanished ;  the  other  again  moved  toward 
the  house. 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  Archibald !  "  A  light  voice 
greeted  him  from  the  head  of  the  steps;  Chatfield 
Bruce,  neatly  garbed  in  a  business  suit,  looked  down 
with  a  smile.  "  Beautiful  day,  isn't  it?  "  he  said  in 
his  friendliest  manner. 

The  Englishman's  countenance  went  purple.  "  I 
—  you  " —  He  had  almost  forgotten  himself,  blurted 
out  some  accusation,  when  something  in  the  young 
man's  eye  held  him.  A  spark,  a  flame,  a  mocking 
light  of  assurance,  certainty,  that  beat  back  full- 
blooded,  unreasoning  passion,  laughed  at  it  as  a 
senseless  torrent,  as  Bruce  himself  was  laughing 
now. 

"  But,  perhaps,  you  consider  platitudes  on  the 
weather  essentially  superfluous !  " 

Sir  Archibald  looked  down;  as  he  passed  into 
the  house,  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  answer. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A    FLYING    TRIP 

WHEN  not  long  afterward,  however,  Simpson 
returned  with  the  receipt  for  the  parcel  and 
the  news  that  Caglioni  had  appeared  at  the  express 
office  in  the  village,  a  slight  but  perceptible  emotion 
might  have  been  noticed  on  Chatfield  Bruce's  face. 
He  paused  near  the  flower  plat  where  he  encoun- 
tered Simpson  and  fixed  upon  that  person  a  gaze 
obviously  interested  or  concerned. 

"  So  he  said  there  was  a  mistake  and  I  wanted 
the  parcel  back?"  queried  Bruce,  leaning  on  his 
light  stick. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  that  you  had  changed  your  mind.  I 
tried  my  best  to  get  the  parcel  again  for  you,  but 
it  was  too  late."  He  spoke  a  little  sourly;  Mr. 
Wood's  man  did  not  like  vacillating  temperaments ; 
he  felt  inwardly  disappointed  with  this  latest  guest 
from  whom  he  had  expected  better  things. 

But  Bruce  smiled  indulgently  on  him.  "  I'm 
229 


230  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

afraid  Sefior  Caglioni  rather  misunderstood,"  he 
observed. 

"Then  you  didn't  want  it  back?"  asked  Simp- 
son, amazed. 

"  I'm  very  well  satisfied  as  it  is.  Rather  a  mis- 
'take  on  the  secretary's  part,  don't  you  know.  Not 
worth  mentioning,  however.  You  say  the  parcel 
had  already  gone,  when  he  got  there  ?  " 

Simpson  answered  that  he  had  fortunately,  or  un- 
fortunately, reached  the  express  office,  just  in  time 
for  the  morning  train.  Bruce  inwardly  wondered 
if  Caglioni  had  procured  the  address  to  which  the 
parcel  had  been  sent.  No  doubt!  Then  the  secre- 
tary's next  step  would  be  —  Bruce  looked  at  his 
watch,  then  asked  Simpson  when  the  next  train 
left  for  New  York.  There  was  one,  the  accommo- 
dation, at  half  past  eleven,  half  an  hour  after  the 
train  that  had  taken  the  express  parcels.  Rather 
late  for  that  accommodation,  remarked  the  young 
man,  with  a  laugh  somewhat  strained,  regarding  at 
the  same  time  the  hands  of  his  watch  indicating 
twenty-five  minutes  after  eleven. 

The  eleven-thirty!  Would  Caglioni  take  it? 
Perhaps;  in  which  event —  But  it  was  a  very  de- 


A  FLYING  TRIP  231 

lioerate  train,  Simpson  had  said;  it  obligingly 
stopped  at  every  station.  When  was  the  next  train 
after  the  accommodation,  the  young  man  then  in- 
quired. At  twelve  o'clock,  said  Simpson;  it  arrived 
in  New  York  but  a  short  time  after  the  slower  one ; 
it  was  called  the  "  flyer."  As  he  was  not  suffi- 
ciently opulent  to  possess  a  real  flyer,  or  "  aero  " 
of  his  own,  Bruce  answered  jestingly  he  would 
perforce  content  himself  with  this  one,  that  he 
might  not  miss  an  important  business  engagement 
in  town.  He  should  have  left  earlier  that  day  but 
for  this  little  incident  —  touching  his  arm  —  as  he 
would  now  explain  to  Mr.  Wood,  his  kind  host. 

The  young  man's  tones  were  blithe,  ingratiating; 
Simpson  quite  forgot  any  slight  umbrage  he  had 
brought  back  with  him  from  the  town;  expressed 
regret  the  other  should  have  been  put  out  by  the 
suit-case's  having  been  so  inexplicably  lost  for 
a  short  time.  But  to  these  last  words  Bruce  waved 
an  indifferent  "  it  didn't  matter  " ;  mistakes  would 
sometimes  happen,  in  the  best  —  He  did  not  com- 
plete the  sentence,  but  gaily  took  himself  off. 

Half  an  hour  later  found  him  seated  in  one  of 
the  ordinary  cars  of  the  flyer.  As  the  train  yet 


232  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

paused  for  the  engine  to  take  on  water,  he  re- 
viewed Mr.  Wood's  last  hospitable  words,  the 
pressing  invitation  to  remain  longer  at  his  house. 
Miss  Wood  had  not  come  down;  she  was  in  her 
room  changing  her  gown,  Mr.  Wood  thought. 
She  had,  of  course,  not  known  that  he  was  leaving 
so  suddenly,  or  would,  her  father  explained,  have 
surely  arranged  to  present  herself  in  person,  bid 
him  an  revoir  and  again  thank  him. 

Did  Mr.  Bruce  intend  to  return  to  Comscot?  It 
was  unlikely.  Well,  then,  the  elderly  gentleman 
would  see  him  somewhat  later  in  town ;  his  daughter 
had  told  him  about  the  Japanese  play,  to  be  given 
at  their  home  for  sweet  charity.  Good-by;  until 
then. 

"  Then  ?  "  Into  the  young  man's  gay  eyes  had 
come  a  sudden  light.  He  wondered  if  he  and  Miss 
Wood  were  destined  ever  to  hold  the  oriental  mirror 
together  up  to  nature. 

A  singular  circumstance  had  been  on  his  mind 
all  the  while  he  talked  with  Mr.  Wood  those  last 
moments  on  the  front  steps.  The  key  to  the 
French  door  of  his  room  that  he  had  felt  sure  he 
had  lost  had  been  returned  to  the  lock.  He  had, 


A  FLYING  TRIP  233 

on  going  back  to  his  apartment  for  the  last  time, 
seen  it  there;  passed  his  ringers,  dubiously,  incred- 
ulously over  it.  What  did  it  mean  —  that  he  had 
dropped  it  somewhere,  in  the  house,  or  on  the  lawn 
—  that  some  one,  presumably  a  maid,  had  picked 
it  up  and  put  it  back,  where  it  belonged?  Of 
course,  that  must  be  the  solution. 

He  had  so  concluded  in  his  own  mind  when  on 
his  way  to  the  station  he  had  passed  Colonel  Man- 
yan's  house.  There  he  had  stopped,  or  rather  had 
been  stopped,  by  that  gentleman,  all  curiosity  about 
the  pearls.  In  the  morning  light  the  colonel  had 
looked  older  and  worn.  The  slight  impediment  in 
his  speech  again  caught  Bruce's  attention ;  it  brought 
with  it  sudden  recognition  —  indubitable  certitude ! 

The  man  he  had  met  in  the  dark  in  Page's 
house?  He  had  thought  he  knew  the  voice  then, 
but  had  been  unable  to  place  it.  Now,  however  — 
Bruce  laughed  in  his  questioner's  face.  Colonel 
Manyan,  the  thief  who  had  opened,  robbed  the  safe! 
No  doubt  —  no  doubt ! 

What  had  seemed  an  inconsequential  incident 
gave  Bruce  an  understanding  of  how  the  colonel 
had  manceuvered  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  satisfy 


234  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

rapacious  creditors.  For,  going  down  to  fne  inn 
to  dress,  the  evening  before,  Bruce  had  observed, 
coming  from  Colonel  Manyan's  house,  the  safe 
company's  trusted  workman,  encountered  at  Mr. 
Goldberg's  earlier  in  the  day.  The  man  had  shown 
slightly,  then,  the  effects  of  liquor;  now,  he  was 
decidedly  the  worse  for  it.  From  this  fellow  and 
his  appearance,  to  the  procuring  of  the  combination 
of  the  safe  on  Colonel  Manyan's  part,  constituted, 
along  general  lines,  no  very  difficult  problem  for 
Bruce  to  solve.  The  finer  details,  just  how  the 
ex-military  man  had  been  enabled  to  get  the  desired 
information,  mattered  little.  The  fellow  might 
have  been  an  innocent  tool  or  a  guilty  accomplice. 

In  either  event,  it  was  of  no  moment  to  Bruce, 
and,  murmuring  something  light  to  the  anxious 
colonel,  standing  at  his  front  gate,  the  young  man 
continued  his  way  to  the  station.  Exit  Colonel 
Manyan,  the  other's  expression  had  seemed  to  say, 
exit,  for  all  time,  from  the  comedy! 

But  the  play  was  going  on;  for  him,  Bruce,  the 
action  was  quickening.  He  leaned  back  now  in 
his  seat  in  the  car.  A  shrill  whistle  replaced  the 
panting  without;  the  train  moved. 


A  FLYING  TRIP  235 

As  it  started,  a  man  ran  hurriedly  across  the 
platform  and  swung  himself  up  on  to  one  of  the 
cars,  but  not  before  Bruce  had  caught  a  quick 
glimpse  of  his  face.  He  experienced  no  surprise; 
from  Caglioni's  hasty  visit  to  the  express  office  and 
the  secretary's  presumably  precipitate  flight  to  New 
York  on  the  train  before  this  one,  a  very  simple 
method  of  effect-to-cause  reasoning  had  led  Mr. 
Bruce  directly,  inevitably  to  a  single  human  agency 
—  the  innocent-looking  James,  Bamford's  valet. 
Sir  Archibald  had  more  than  one  mouchard,  or  in- 
former, at  his  beck  and  nod.  "  It  would  seem," 
murmured  Chatfield  Bruce  to  himself,  as  the  train 
gathered  impetus,  "  it  would  seem  from  an  extra- 
neous point  of  view,  that  a  rather  serious  mistake 
has  been  made  —  the  mistake  of  having  overlooked 
a  pawn ! " 

But  mistake  or  not,  he  had  to  go  on  with  the 
game.  "  Check  "  had  been  said  by  Caglioni;  other 
forces  pressed  for  a  "  mate."  That,  however,  had 
not  yet  come.  Not  yet,  sang  the  wheels,  not  yet! 
His  brain  was  exhilarated,  his  eyes  brilliant  with 
excitement.  Comscot,  with  its  little  homes,  nestling 
so  cozily  on  a  green  lap  between  verdant  hills,  faded 


236  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

from  view;  Mr.  Wood's  place  was  the  last  to  be 
seen. 

The  train  made  but  one  or  two  stops  on  the  way 
to  the  city.  The  first  time  it  drew  up,  Bruce  rose 
suddenly  and  left  the  car.  How  long  did  they  re- 
main at  this  station,  he  asked  the  conductor.  A 
couple  of  minutes,  came  the  reply,  and  the  young 
man  darted  into  the  telegraph  office  and  started  to 
write  a  message.  Some  one  followed  and  stood 
near,  professing  to  be  occupied  in  a  like  task.  Bruce 
did  not  turn  his  head,  but  he  knew  well,  of  course, 
who  he  was.  He  shaded  the  yellow  paper  with  his 
elbow  and  scribbled  in  fine,  almost  illegible  char- 
acters. 

The  clerk  who  received  it  started  to  read  the 
message  aloud,  while  counting  the  words.  The 
young  man  stopped  him;  he  was  not  to  do  that, 
sharply ;  how  did  the  telegraph  operator  know  it  did 
not  contain  a  hint  or  an  important  tip  on  the  mar- 
ket? The  man  finished  in  silence,  perusing  the 
contents  and  estimating  the  charge;  then,  pointing 
downward  with  a  reproving  finger,  "  What  is  that 
word?"  he  asked  severely  of  this  rather  too  par- 
ticular person. 


A  FLYING  TRIP  237 

At  the  question,  he  who  had  come  into  the  office 
directly  after  Bruce  bent  his  head  more  expectantly ; 
but  that  young  gentleman  did  not  answer  audibly. 
Taking  the  telegram  and  grasping  the  pen  once 
more,  Bruce,  with  a  somewhat  ironical  look  on  his 
face,  printed  the  word  there  had  been  doubt  about 
—  the  word  "  meet,"  after  which  he  again  returned 
the  message  to  the  operator,  paid  for  it,  and  started 
away. 

The  conductor's  "  All  aboard  "  greeted  him  at 
the  threshold.  Bruce  closed  the  door  of  the  tele- 
graph office  sharply,  so  sharply  that  he  almost  swung 
it  hard  against  the  valet's  face.  But  that  person 
again  managed  to  get  the  train  by  clutching  the 
hand-rail  of  the  last  car;  Bruce,  however,  felt  fairly 
assured  that  the  fellow  had  caught  only  part  of  the 
address  and  nothing  in  the  telegram  that  would  be 
of  service  to  him.  A  smile  came  to  the  young 
man's  face.  He  forgot  the  dangers  and  thought 
only  of  the  zest  of  the  new  contest.  It  had  opened 
fairly  and  promised  varied  interest  and  piquancy  of 
situation.  He  tried  in  fancy  to  look  ahead,  but 
mists  seemed  waving  before  his  eyes.  Of  one  fact 
he  felt  certain:  the  battle  royal  was  swinging  itself 


238  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

into  a  larger  field  and  greater  hazards.  His  ex- 
pression changed;  his  gaze  suddenly  grew  more  in- 
tent. 

Through  the  open  door  at  the  far  end  of  the 
car,  he  caught  for  a  moment  the  whisk  of  a  woman's 
skirts  as  she  changed  her  seat  in  the  coach  ahead  — 
a  gown  he  knew  and  remembered,  draping  a  form, 
young,  yet  full.  After  a  brief  thoughtful  interval, 
Mr.  Bruce  rose  and  looked  into  the  parlor  coach. 
Miss  Flossie  Burke  was  there,  and  conversing  con- 
fidentially with  none  other  than  Mr.  Bolger!  The 
sunshine  glinted  the  girl's  hair;  her  crimson  lips 
babbled.  Of  what? 

Bruce  moved  softly  toward  them;  the  coach  was 
a  Pullman.  He  dropped  into  the  section  behind 
Miss  Burke  and  Mr.  Bolger.  They  sat  with  their 
heads  close  together,  and  neither  noticed  the  young 
man.  Other  people  were  passing  to  and  fro ;  it  was 
a  particularly  noisy  bit  of  track  they  traversed  at 
the  moment;  Mr.  Bolger  lifted  his  voice  slightly. 
Miss  Flossie  seemed  to  have  ingratiated  herself 
somewhat  quickly  and  cozily  into  the  confidence  of 
the  man  employed  by  her  uncle;  she  permitted  her 
green  eyes  rather  free,  bolder  scope.  In  her  hand 


A  FLYING  TRIP  239 

was  a  little  russet  bag,  with  silver-gilt  trimmings; 
her  gloved  fingers  fondled  it. 

Had  the  detective  been  an  expert  at  dropping 
a  sounding-line  into  the  almost  fathomless  depths 
of  womankind,  he  would  have  caught  beneath  the 
playful  surface-lights  of  her  gaze,  indications  that 
Miss  Flossie  was  not  entirely  in  the  coquettish  or 
charmingly  idle  mood  her  manner  seemed  to  imply. 
But  Mr.  Bolger  had  no  special  training  in  this 
direction.  He  had  never  attended  that  college 
where  woman  constitutes  the  text-book,  the  primer, 
the  abecedary  and  all  the  rest;  he  was  no  master 
of  arts  feminine.  He  could,  however,  in  a  crude, 
inartistic  masculine  fashion  appreciate  that  outward 
semblance  which,  in  common  parlance,  constitutes 
a  "  good-looker."  His  truant  eyes  occasionally 
paid  lingering,  but  respectful,  tribute  to  Miss  Flos- 
sie's perfections.  Her  darting  glances  seemed  to 
draw  him  somewhat  from  himself. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "it  is  my  opinion,  they  are  in 
New  York;  that  they  were  taken  there  by  the  Chi- 
nese servant  who  disappeared." 

She  regarded  the  speaker  tentatively;  again 
passed  caressing  ringers  over  the  bag.  Bruce,  from 


240  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  side  of  a  newspaper  he  held  before  him,  observed 
the  gloved  fingers  moving  softly  over  the  leather. 
The  movement  held,  fascinated  him.  He  could  not 
see  her  face  now ;  he  saw  only  an  ear  which  peeped 
like  a  pink  sea-shell  from  threads  of  gold. 

"  Suppose  — "  the  girl's  tone  had  become  abruptly, 
irresistibly  hard,  though  she  still  used  the  battery  of 
her  light  glances  — "  that  paper,  left  in  my  uncle's 
box  when  the  bonds  were  taken,  should  again  turn 
up?  And  suppose  it  really  contained  some  distin- 
guishing mark  pointing  directly  to  one  person,  only 
one?  Suppose  all  this,  I  say;  could  you  convict 
that  person  on  this  paper?  "  She  bent  involuntarily 
a  little  closer  to  Mr.  Bolger ;  the  green  eyes  burned 
somewhat  brighter. 

That  gentleman  seemed  to  shrink  back.  He  re- 
membered a  certain  conversation  with  Mr.  Samuel 
Page  in  the  latter's  office.  The  elderly  financier 
had  spoken  of  having  lost  the  scrap  of  paper  re- 
ferred to  by  his  niece.  The  detective  had,  on  that 
other  occasion,  concluded  Mr.  Page  had  mislaid  it. 
But  now?  Mr.  Bolger  continued  to  study  Miss 
Flossie;  his  gaze  more  critical,  steadier,  full  of  a 
growing  knowledge  of  her,  of  all  her  words  implied. 


A  FLYING  TRIP  241 

It  may  be  that  she  began  to  feel  slightly  uncom- 
fortable. 

"Of  course,"  she  laughed  rather  nervously,  "  this 
is  all  '  supposing.'  I  have  '  supposed  '  a  thousand 
such  theories,  most  of  them  just  as  wild,  no  doubt." 

He  slowly  opened  his  lips.  What  he  had  intended 
saying,  however,  was  not  uttered;  the  train  had 
come  gradually  to  a  stop.  People  looked  out  over 
a  houseless  landscape.  A  little  accident  ahead  of 
them,  said  the  porter,  passing  at  that  moment  down 
the  aisle.  Number  Eight,  the  Wells-Fargo  express, 
had  met  with  a  slight  mishap  to  a  car-coupling,  a 
defective  spring,  or  something  of  the  kind.  They 
would  have  to  wait  here  a  few  moments ;  the  eleven- 
thirty  accommodation  was  also  held  up,  farther 
down  the  line.  Bolger  rose  with  an  expression  of 
annoyance.  Bruce  held  the  newspaper  before  his 
face,  but  neither  the  detective  nor  Miss  Burke 
looked  back  at  him.  Both  moved  toward  the  front 
and  stepped  out  upon  the  platform  to  peer  ahead; 
all  the  other  occupants,  except  Bruce,  sooner  or 
later  followed  their  example. 

That  young  man  lingered  a  brief  while  longer 
in  the  Pullman,  then  sauntered  back  into  his  own 


242  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

coach.  Through  the  window  he  could  see  James, 
the  valet,  on  the  green;  farther  toward  the  front 
of  the  train,  Mr.  Bolger  and  Flossie.  The  breeze 
swept  the  latter's  skirts  exhilaratingly  around  her; 
the  loose  bits  of  blonde  hair  seemed  to  dance  in 
consonance  with  the  daisies  in  the  field.  Bruce 
noticed,  however,  the  young  woman's  lips  were 
set  hard  with  a  determined  expression  that  rather 
marred  their  vivid  fullness.  Miss  Burke  had 
finally  and  irrevocably  made  up  her  mind  to  some- 
thing—  to  what? 

Not  long  before,  Bruce  had  considered  a  seem- 
ingly unconsidered  pawn;  noy,  into  the  game,  had 
been  unexpectedly  introduced  a  new  and  more  im- 
portant piece  —  a  queen,  full  of  cogency  and  power. 
The  contest,  already  sufficiently  acute,  on  the  face 
of  it,  suddenly  developed  a  very  one-sided  aspect ; 
with  Bruce,  apparently  hoping  against  hope,  look- 
ing for  some  happy  chance  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  constantly  enlarging  circle  of  hostile  forces. 

"  You  didn't  hear  any  details  at  the  last  station?  " 
he  now  asked  the  conductor  as  that  individual, 
with  a  look  of  superior  unconcern,  approached. 
"  Whether  any  damage  was  done  to  the  passengers 


A  FLYING  TRIP  243 

or  —  the  car  carrying  the  express  parcels?  By  the 
way,  what  would  become  of  the  latter,  in  case  the 
train  should  have  been  somewhat  badly  wrecked  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  they'd  be  transferred  to  the  ac- 
commodation." 

Bruce's  long,  shapely  fingers  moved  slightly  on 
the  edge  of  the  cane  seat;  the  accommodation,  that 
Caglioni  had  taken!  Was  it  very  close  to  the  train 
that  was  delaying  them?  It  might  be,  came  the 
reply. 

Bruce  forgot  about  Miss  Burke  now;  he  had  no 
room  in  his  thoughts,  on  the  instant,  for  Sir  Archi- 
bald's valet.  In  his  mind's  eye  he  could  see  only 
one  figure :  a  little  brown  man,  very  useful,  very 
helpful,  anxious  to  be  of  any  assistance  to  the  ex- 
press employees,  moving  about  vivaciously  among 
the  parcels  and  packages,  big  and  little,  prying,  peer- 
ing, peeping,  in  the  confusion,  the  crowding  about, 
securing  possibly  one  of  the  packages.  Bruce 
leaned  back  and  half-closed  his  eyes. 

How  long  they  had  remained  here  stationary, 
already !  He  took  out  his  watch.  Only  five  or  six 
minutes,  at  best?  He  could  hardly  believe  the  in- 
terval had  been  so  short.  Mechanically  he  watched 


244  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

the  passengers  without;  three  or  four  were  playing 
leap-frog.  James  looked  on;  there  was  a  rather 
disapproving  expression  around  the  valet's  prim  lips. 
The  game  was,  however,  soon  interrupted;  people 
scrambled  back  to  the  train. 

All  clear  now  to  town  —  the  statement  circulated 
from  lip  to  lip.  Half  an  hour,  and  they  would  be 
at  the  station  in  New  York.  Again  the  wheels 
began  to  rattle  and  hum.  People  bedecked  with  big, 
bold  daisies  rilled  the  seats;  Bruce,  alone,  sat  there 
unadorned.  His  fingers  were  closely  interlocked; 
a  fine  indentation  appeared  on  his  brow  between  the 
keen,  searching  eyes.  In  half  an  hour !  —  and  after 
that? 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOSTILE   ACTIVITIES 

AS  the  train  drew  up  at  the  end  of  its  journey, 
Bruce  got  out  quickly  and  started  toward  the 
gate.  The  eleven-thirty  accommodation  had,  but  a 
few  minutes  before,  pulled  in  on  the  next  platform, 
said  the  man  carrying  his  grip.  And  the  Wells- 
Fargo,  before  that?  It,  too,  had  arrived;  the  ac- 
cident wasn't  worth  speaking  of,  the  man  had 
heard  —  something  trifling  gone  wrong  with  the 
engine.  Outside  the  gate,  a  throng  of  people 
awaited  the  passengers,  and,  close  to  the  narrow 
opening,  Bruce  held  back  to  allow  Miss  Flossie 
and  Bolger,  who  were  some  distance  ahead  of  him, 
to  disappear  from  sight. 

James,  the  valet,  a  good  deal  in  the  dark,  watched 
the  young  man  at  a  respectful  distance  and  won- 
dered; he  saw  him,  however,  after  a  few  moments, 
again  press  on  through  the  gate  and  walk  rapidly 
toward  one  of  the  main  entrances.  But  he  did  not 

245 


246  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

reach  it  without  a  trifling  mishap.  Some  one, 
neatly  attired,  hurrying  for  a  train,  ran  into  him. 
The  young  man's  hat  was  knocked  off;  he  halted 
with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance  to  recover  it. 
The  stranger,  however,  at  once  stopped,  stooped,  and, 
with  an  expression  of  regret,  tendered  it  politely 
to  Chatfield  Bruce,  then  hurried  on  toward  the  in- 
formation office. 

Stepping  into  the  street,  Bruce  hastened  past 
a  carriage-stand;  no,  he  would  not  take  a  cab. 
Caglioni,  not  thinking  any  one  followed  him  on  the 
flyer,  would  probably  content  himself  with  that  less 
speedy  and  expensive  equipage,  in  which  event,  he, 
Bruce,  in  a  taxi,  might  reach  a  much  desired  point 
as  soon  as  Sir  Archibald's  secretary.  The  express 
parcels,  no  doubt,  were  on  their  way  there  by  this 
time;  a  possible  contingency  he  had  thought  of  on 
the  train,  had  not  arisen  to  divert  the  packages, 
et  cetera,  out  of  their  regular,  routine  channel : 
from  the  express  car  to  the  express  van,  thence  to 
the  express  office. 

He  had  marked  his  little  bundle,  sent  through 
Simpson,  "  to  be  called  for."  Who  would  call  for 
it?  Caglioni  knew  the  address  on  it  and  could 


HOSTILE  ACTIVITIES  247 

describe  it.  The  secretary  was  not  one  lightly  to 
be  doubted.  He  wore  good  clothes  and  looked  pros- 
perous, for  a  foreigner.  Bruce  felt  almost  positive 
the  ordinary  express  clerk  would  deliver  him  the 
parcel,  or  if  he  refused,  could  at  least  be  impressed 
with  the  importance  of  not  giving  it  up  to  any  one 
until  after  further  investigation. 

Bruce  sprang  into  a  taxi;  in  a  low  voice,  gave 
his  directions,  and  they  started  off.  As  they  passed 
with  some  difficulty  through  the  much  congested 
traffic  in  this  locality,  the  young  man  looked  out 
through  the  little  opening  at  the  back.  Not  far  be- 
hind, James  lolled  at  his  ease  in  a  similar  vehicle, 
appearing  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  an  experience 
out  of  the  line  of  his  ordinary  duties.  To  one 
side,  Bruce,  himself  unseen,  noticed  Mr.  Bolger, 
bargaining  with  a  driver.  That  individual  appeared 
obdurate  over  the  fare  offered;  it  was  a  long  way 
to  go  —  to  Chinatown ! 

Bruce  caught  the  detective's  destination  with  a 
thrill  of  surprise.  As  the  taxi  emerged  slowly 
from  the  press  of  carts  and  wagons  he  saw  that 
Miss  Flossie  had  already  entered  the  closed  cab. 
From  out  of  the  shadows  her  eyes  seemed  to  shine 


248  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

like  those  of  a  fair  but  ruthless  Nemesis.  The 
young  man  pressed  back  farther  in  his  seat  and 
passed  his  fingers  over  his  lips  which  were  twitching 
slightly.  The  gesture  might  have  been  construed  as 
inspired  by  nervousness,  apprehension,  even  fear  — 
of  a  net  closing  tighter  and  tighter  about  him,  a 
close  net,  with  no  large  apertures,  sweeping  around, 
apparently  covering  all  the  ground,  every  point. 
At  this  crisis  in  his  affairs,  however,  it  may  be 
he  told  himself  he  had  no  time  to  think  of  Bolger, 
or  Miss  Flossie,  while  one  single,  more  important 
incursion  against  his  defenses  was  in  progress  — 
Caglioni's ! 

Here  was  a  foeman,  wily,  subtle,  with  many  ex- 
pedients at  his  finger-tips,  that  he  had  learned  long 
ago  —  in  that  region  where  the  "  Golden  River  " 
enters  the  plain,  under  the  title  of  the  Sorrow  of 
Han.  But  Bruce  had  beaten  him  then;  ah,  yes,  he 
had  beaten  him  then,  he  could  repeat  to  himself, 
with  eyes  brightly  gleaming,  this  yellow  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing !  And  again  the  young  man  seemed 
to.  hear  the  great  river  flow;  the  sob  and  sigh 
through  its  rushes. 


HOSTILE  ACTIVITIES  249 

A  momentary  retrospection!  The  sound  of 
horses'  feet  replaced  it;  the  rattle  of  wheels;  the 
wheezing  and  whizzing  of  motors;  the  clatter  and 
banging  of  street-cars,  transferring  their  human 
loads  from  one  part  of  pandemonium  to  another. 

Bruce  drew  a  cigarette  from  his  case.  They  went 
so  slowly  at  times,  now  were  delayed  altogether, 
where  the  street  was  torn  up,  and  the  way,  for  one 
vehicle  to  pass  at  a  time,  had  become  blocked. 
Bruce  toyed  with  the  delicate  smoking  cylinder  until 
they  began  slowly  to  forge  ahead  once  more.  After 
that,  they  progressed  more  speedily ;  Bruce  watched 
street-corner  after  street-corner  pass,  until  abruptly 
the  taxi  again  stopped,  this  time  at  his  destination, 
the  express  office.  Swiftly  he  sprang  out. 

Only  to  learn  he  was  too  late!  A  man  had  al- 
ready called  for  the  parcel,  observed  the  clerk  in 
some  surprise,  consulting  one  of  his  books.  The 
clerk  remembered  well  the  parcel  referred  to,  for 
it  was  among  those  that  had  just  come  in  from 
the  station;  it  bore  a  name  in  English  and  also 
several  peculiar  marks,  outlandish  eastern  char- 
acters of  some  kind.  His  recollections  were  the 


250  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

more  distinct  in  the  matter  on  account  of  those  odd 
tracings  in  ink. 

Bruce  felt  the  eyes  of  James,  the  valet,  now  wait- 
ing without,  fixed  upon  him  as  he  pursued  these 
inquiries  and  received  the  information  that  the  par- 
cel was  undoubtedly  gone,  had  passed  into  Cag- 
lioni's  possession  and  was  now  in  that  person's 
eager,  clutching  fingers. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  The  clerk's  gaze  bent 
across  the  counter  upon  Bruce  more  curiously.  It 
may  be,  the  man  divined,  or  thought  he  divined, 
something  beneath  the  surface  that  held  the  caller 
there,  mute,  thinking,  as  if  he  had  received  im- 
portant news  or  a  shock  of  some  kind. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  about  it  ?  "  he  re- 
peated. 

Bruce  regarded  him  as  from  afar.  "  This  per- 
son who  called  for  the  parcel,  what  was  he  like? 
Did  you  happen  to  notice?  " 

The  man  had  noticed;  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, he  described  Caglioni.  The  name  of  him  to 
whom  the  parcel  had  been  directed  was  Chinese; 
Sir  Archibald's  secretary  had  a  fugitive  oriental 
look  about  the  eyes.  He  appeared  of  high-class,  a 


HOSTILE  ACTIVITIES  251 

mandarin,  maybe,  thought  the  clerk,  who  had  vague 
ideas  of  far-eastern  personages. 

Mr.  Bruce  turned.  Not  a  movement  on  his  part 
had  escaped  the  vigilant  watcher  in  the  taxi  with- 
out. But  before  leaving  the  express  office,  the 
young  man  inadvertently  paused  at  the  sight  of 
a  newspaper  lying  on  the  counter,  an  "  extra " 
whose  flaring  red  color  seemed  fairly  to  call  out: 
"Where  are  the  Goldberg  pearls?"  Bruce  picked 
up  the  sheet,  for  a  moment,  and  forced,  even,  a 
jaunty  accent  to  his  tones : 

"  Quite  a  mysterious  affair,  eh  ?  " 

"Won't  be  for  long,"  vouchsafed  the  individual 
behind  the  counter.  "  When  the  yellow  papers  get 
after  it!  They'd  run  down  anything." 

Bruce  did  not  controvert  the  statement.  To  one 
observing  him,  walking  out,  his  stride  might  have 
been  construed  as  that  of  a  light-hearted,  care-free 
person;  the  on-looker  would  have  failed  to  guess 
from  his  bearing  that  the  news  he  had  just  received 
had  awakened  his  worst  fears,  despondency,  un- 
mitigated hopelessness,  the  despair  of  one  who, 
it  might  be,  has  seen  a  last  hope  doomed  to  failure, 
who  sets  foot  again  on  the  pavement  to  go  he  knows 


252  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

not  whither,  but  always  accompanied  by  the  black 
shadow  clutching,  drawing  him  down. 

Deeper  —  deeper  —  into  a  black  gulf;  a  bottom- 
less pit  — 

Four  or  five  blocks  distant  from  the  express 
office,  at  that  moment,  a  little  man,  in  excellent 
spirits,  holding  close  in  his  arms  a  package,  dashed 
in  a  cab  down  one  of  the  principal  thorough- 
fares. Every  now  and  then  he  looked  down  at 
the  parcel.  It  was  tied  around  and  around  both 
ways  many  times  with  twine.  There  were  indica- 
tions of  knots  galore,  buried  beneath  the  sealing-wax 
Simpson  had  plentifully  deluged  them  with  at  the 
little  office  in  the  village  of  Comscot.  And  every 
red  daub  bore  plainly  the  stamp  of  the  express  com- 
pany at  that  town.  Mr.  Wood's  man,  acting  under 
instruction,  no  doubt,  had  done  his  share  of  the 
work  well. 

The  package  might  have  contained  debentures 
and  bonds,  for  all  the  care  bestowed  upon  it;  an 
exceedingly  "  fussy  and  pothering  young  gentle- 
man," truly,  as  James,  the  valet,  had  remarked. 
Dress-suit,  forsooth!  Done  up  with  such  care  no 


HOSTILE  ACTIVITIES  253 

one  could  open  it,  or  peep  into  it  without  leaving 
evidence  of  his  prying  fingers!  Caglioni,  however, 
had  no  desire  to  burst  the  bonds  of  the  precious 
parcel  yet.  It  wras  more  precious  as  it  stood;  he 
would  not,  for  a  fortune,  have  touched  a  fasten- 
ing. Perhaps  Bruce  at  that  moment  might  vainly 
be  hoping  he  would  do  so  at  once,  without  wit- 
nesses, and  thus  furnish  a  possible  loop-hole,  or 
leeway,  for  protest.  But  Caglioni  was  wily;  he 
would  only  lift  the  lid  of  this  Pandora's  box  when 
the  time  seemed  right.  And  that  would  be  soon  — 
soon! 

Even  now  at  the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Twenty-third  Street  he  saw  a  large  maroon-colored 
car  draw  up  and  stand  waiting,  as  near  by  as  the 
regulations  of  traffic  permitted.  The  splendid 
equipage  was  covered  with  dust  and  dirt;  the 
chauffeur  had  been  plentifully  splashed;  two  occu- 
pants in  the  rear  were  fairly  coated. 

Apparently  the  car  had  been  speeding  at  a  high 
rate  over  a  road  in  places  none  too  good,  such  as 
those  that  ran  out  from  Comscot,  generally 
anathematized  by  the  automobile-loving  contingent. 
The  little  brown  man  in  the  cab  espied,  almost  im- 


254  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

mediately,  beyond  the  swirl  of  vehicles,  the  maroon- 
colored  car.  He  called  up  to  his  driver,  indicating 
it,  and  waved  an  excited  hand  toward  the  occupants. 
They,  too,  now  observed  him  and  responded  to  the 
secretary's  gestures. 

The  cab  dashed  up.  Caglioni  got  out  and  stepped 
quickly  toward  the  others. 

"  Eureka ! "  observed  Sir  Archibald  grimly,  ey- 
ing him  from  his  seat.  "  I  think  we  may  con- 
gratulate you,"  he  added  to  his  companion. 

Mr.  Goldberg  made  a  gurgling  sound  in  his 
throat.  "  It  was  all  right,  then  ?  "  he  asked  tremu- 
lously. 

"  All  right,"  answered  the  secretary,  barely  able 
to  conceal  his  satisfaction. 

"  Then  get  in,"  said  Sir  Archibald  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

NEEDS    MUST 

JAMES,  the  valet,  not  long  afterward,  standing  at 
one  end  of  a  lower  hall  in  the  Waldorf,  mo- 
tioned to  a  page  who  passed  at  that  moment. 
Slipping  a  coin  into  the  lad's  hand,  he  asked  him  to 
see  if  Sir  Archibald  Bamford  had  yet  returned 
to  his  suite  of  rooms  on  the  sixth  floor.  If  the 
gentleman  would  send  up  his  card  at  the  office,  be- 
gan the  boy,  when  the  other  interrupted;  he  pre- 
ferred to  wait  here;  let  the  lad  do  as  he  told  him; 
just  find  out  if  Sir  Archibald  had  come  back  to 
the  apartments  he  kept  reserved  for  his  town  use. 
Whereupon  the  young  Ariel  in  uniform,  discerning 
that  the  individual  with  the  high  English  accent  for 
some  reason  wished  to  remain  where  he  was  for 
the  moment,  vanished  on  his  errand. 

He  was  gone  but  a  short  while.     When  he  came 
back  he  conveyed  the  news  that  Sir  Archibald  had 

255 


256  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

not  yet  returned  to  town,  but  that  word  had  been 
received  that  he  expected  soon  to  reoccupy  his  suite. 
Having  conveyed  which  information,  Ariel  lingered 
as  if  he  thought  there  might  be  a  tip  both  coming 
and  going ;  such  things  had  happened.  James,  about 
to  wave  him  loftily  away,  hesitated. 

Scribbling  hastily  a  note,  he  placed  it  in  an  en- 
velope he  found  near  at  hand,  sealed  it  and  bade 
the  lad  give  it  to  the  young  lady  at  the  desk  on  the 
sixth  floor,  with  very  especial  instructions  that  Sir 
Archibald  was  to  get  it  at  once  on  his  arrival.  "  At 
once,"  repeated  James,  and  emphasized  the  words, 
though  reluctantly,  with  the  obviously  expected 
second  tip;  he  even,  in  concession  to  distorted 
Yankee  ideas  and  in  view  of  the  extreme  impor- 
tance of  the  matter  in  hand,  compromised  with 
himself  by  stretching  the  gratuity  to  rather  liberal 
proportions. 

Perhaps  the  fact  that  the  valet  was  in  good  humor 
may  also  have  had  somewhat  to  do  with  his  un- 
wonted generosity.  Mr.  Bruce,  eating  his  lunch  at 
a  little  side  table  in  the  palm  room,  no  doubt 
thought  himself  now  free  from  espionage.  He 
might,  indeed,  with  good  reason,  fancy  he  had  es- 


NEEDS  MUST  257 

caped  from  his  troublesome  follower  in  one  of  the 
crowded  department  stores  into  which  he  had  taken 
refuge;  but  James,  keen  as  a  fox  terrier,  had  man- 
aged to  keep  to  his  task.  He  had  even  changed 
his  vehicle  for  one  different  in  appearance,  and 
that  the  young  man  was  unaware  of  his  presence 
at  the  moment  in  the  big  hostelry  he  felt  fairly 
well  assured. 

To  keep  Mr.  Bruce  better  in  view,  James  shifted 
his  seat  to  one  in  the  Turkish  room.  There,  amid 
an  atmosphere  of  luxury,  with  a  murmur  of  soft 
voices  around  him  and  a  swish  of  feminine  draperies 
sweeping  the  perfumed  air  to  his  senses,  the  valet 
settled  himself,  well-contented,  at  his  post  of 
reconnaissance.  Between  green  palm  branches  and 
curtain-folds,  he  could  distinguish  a  part  of  Bruce's 
figure ;  but  he  could  not  see  his  face.  James  clasped 
his  fingers  over  his  knees  and  waited.  He  had  no 
idea  what  these  new,  unwonted  activities  forced 
upon  him,  meant;  just  why  he  was  there;  he  did 
not  much  care. 

He  had  served  Sir  Archibald  in  many  places  in 
the  East  and  in  the  West,  and,  in  this  life  of 
variety,  flutter  and  ferment,  James  availed  himself 


258  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

gladly  of  all  periods  of  rest.  Some  of  the  calm  of 
the  Orient  that  he  had  unconsciously  breathed  into 
his  being,  descended  on  him  now;  he  needed  only 
the  sound  of  the  temple  bells,  with  the  almost  inter- 
minable interval  between  strokes,  to  set  him 
a-dreaming. 

Mr.  Bruce  dreamed,  without  that  incentive;  but 
whether  they  were  pleasant  dreams  or  not,  who  shall 
say?  Why  had  he  come  there?  In  a  spirit  of 
bravado?  Or,  had  he  reasoned,  as  well  there  as 
anywhere  else  ?  That  amid  very  many,  one  may  be 
like  the  proverbial  needle?  Here,  in  the  palm 
room,  scores  flitted  this  way,  scores  that.  There 
were  about  him  movements  comparable  only  to 
those  of  the  butterflies  in  a  sunlit  meadow ;  up- 
flutterings,  brief  agitations,  momentary  tranquillity, 
noddings  and  bowings,  curvings  and  bendings. 

What  a  place  for  a  man,  alone,  bowed  down, 
perhaps,  by  gloomy  thoughts;  regrets!  Ko  cave  of 
despair,  no  slough  of  despond,  this!  At  least,  on 
the  surface!  Gaiete  de  coeur!  Fanned  by  crea- 
ture comforts!  Titbits  and  sauce  piquant.  The 
dishes  of  Frederic  or  Paillard;  atmosphere,  a 
I' Americaine ! 


NEEDS  MUST  259 

Bruce  looked  into  space  as  he  gave  his  order;  his 
mind  was  far  away.  Now  he  leaned  his  head  on 
his  elbow  and  watched  a  woman's  graceful  form. 

She  had  the  straight,  slender  suppleness  of  an- 
other who,  it  may  be,  came  to  his  mind  at  that 
moment ;  she  turned  her  head ;  he  saw  her  features. 
Then  he  gazed  aside ;  why  make  comparisons  ?  So 
unfair  to  others,  no  doubt  passable  enough  in  their 
own  way!  If  he  wished  to  think  of  her,  he  could, 
perhaps,  the  better  do  so  by  gazing  up  at  the  lights. 
They  twinkled  mockingly,  hundreds  of  them,  as  if  to 
remind  him  that  they,  with  their  paltry  luster,  were 
not  stars;  the  stars  he  might  remember  because  of 
her. 

Here,  amid  light,  as  much  as  one  could  wish  for, 
the  shadows  again  seemed  descending,  gathering 
around.  He  had  forgotten  James. 

A  millionaire  gambler  and  bucaneer  of  the  Street 
paused  to  speak  with  him.  Bruce  looked  up  gaily; 
perhaps  he  was  conscious  at  the  moment  this  casual 
acquaintance  might  have  caught  a  rather  somber 
expression  on  his  face.  The  young  fellow  felt 
keenly  alive  to  even  the  most  trifling  possibilities ; 
but  the  bucket-shop  "broker,"  well-fed,  followed 


260  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

by  two  gorgeously  dressed  women,  sauntered  un- 
concernedly on. 

At  the  same  moment  a  stocky  individual,  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  caught  the  young  man's  eye. 
Mr.  Bolger,  slightly  flushed,  seemed  seeking  some 
one.  The  match  Bruce  was  at  that  instant  holding 
to  a  cigarette  did  not  waver,  although  he  shaded  his 
face  slightly  more  with  his  hand;  but  the  sharp 
eyes  of  the  detective  had  seen  him.  He  came  for- 
ward. 

"May  I  sit  down?"  he  observed  bruskly. 

The  young  man  regarded  him;  seemed  to  be 
looking  through  and  through  him.  Bolger  shifted 
with  the  least  embarrassment  in  the  chair  he  had 
dropped  into. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  have,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  straight  gaze  and  immovable  features. 

The  other  made  a  gesture.  "  I  was  going  down 
town  when  I  saw  Sir  Archibald  in  his  car,"  re- 
marked the  detective.  "  After  a  few  words  with 
him  I  thought  it  as  well  to  come  back.  In  fact," 
with  much  satisfaction,  "  Sir  Archibald  has  en- 
trusted to  me  a  little  commission.  He  has  at  this 
moment  returned  to  his  rooms  here  and  would  be 


NEEDS  MUST  261 

pleased  to  have  you  honor  him  for  a  few  moments 
with  your  company." 

There  was  a  satirical  look  on  Mr.  Bolger's  com- 
monplace countenance  as  he  spoke,  an  expression 
that  seemed  to  say :  "  That  was  very  well  done  for 
outward  politeness;  come  now,  wasn't  it?  Quite 
worthy  the  surroundings,  eh?" 

Bruce  blew  a  whiff  of  smoke  over  the  other;  he 
did  not  regard  the  detective  now.  The  young  man's 
mind  was,  no  doubt,  very  busy  at  the  moment ;  per- 
haps, in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw,  on  a  sudden,  a  map 
of  his  surroundings,  considered  the  entrance  and 
exits.  Alack,  the  palm  room  had  been  located  in  al- 
most the  center  of  the  ground  floor,  the  very  inner 
parlor  of  the  spider's  web,  as  it  were.  Bruce  looked 
at  the  merry  people  around  him,  then  glanced  cas- 
ually toward  a  door.  Waiters  moved  here  and 
there,  between  him  and  it,  and,  outside,  were  nu- 
merous attendants;  a  liveried  man  and  one  for  the 
vehicles  had  their  station  at  the  main  entrance. 
Bolger,  as  if  reading  all  that  might  have  flashed 
through  the  young  man's  brain  in  the  brief  interval, 
smiled  cruelly. 

"  You  wouldn't  disappoint  Sir  Archibald,  I  hope," 


262  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

he  observed  with  a  suspicion  of  a  grin.  Large 
vistas  had  begun  to  open  up  before  Mr.  Bolger's 
inner  vision.  Pathways  leading  to  fame,  new 
honors,  and,  what  was  better,  new  emoluments 
seemed,  surely,  within  grasp.  He  began  to  enter- 
tain a  kind  of  friendly  feeling  for  the  young  fel- 
low; he  didn't  wish  to  hurry  him,  he  observed, 
but  — 

Bruce's  manner  suddenly  changed.  He  was  no 
longer  thoughtful,  meditative;  a  haphazard,  reck- 
less gaiety  that  became  him  well,  appeared  on  his 
young  handsome  face.  He  called  for  the  waiter 
and  paid  the  bill.  Taking  the  hat  and  stick  that 
person  deferentially  handed  him,  he  got  up  and 
passed  his  arm  slightly  through  Bolger's  —  as  if 
there  was  any  danger  of  that  individual  escaping 
from  him! 

"  So  Sir  Archibald's  come  to  town,  has  he?  "  he 
remarked  blithely.  "  That  is  good  news,  indeed. 
Just  got  here,  you  say?  How  delightful!  Yacht, 
or  car?  By  motor,  of  course!  He  could  hardly 
have  reached  the  hotel,  otherwise,  so  soon.  But 
by  what  good  fortune,  may  I  ask,  did  you  come  to 
know  where  I  was  to  be  found,  my  good  fellow?  " 


NEEDS  MUST  263 

He  paused,  with  his  head  tilted  slightly.  The 
other  looked  at  him  with  ill-concealed  admiration; 
here  was  a  cool  one !  "  It  was  James,  the  valet," 
answered  Bolger.  "  He  left  a  little  note  Sir  Archi- 
bald found  waiting  for  him,  up-stairs." 

"  Ah !  "  For  a  moment  Bruce  said  no  more. 
Here  again  was  James,  a  "  piece,"  uncaptured,  un- 
fortunately, not  disposed  of;  a  live  pawn,  still  in 
the  game.  But  the  young  man's  features  showed 
no  chagrin.  He  walked  with  light  footstep;  an 
athlete,  every  inch  of  him.  Once  or  twice  he 
nodded  and  spoke  to  some  one.  It  was  a  concert 
afternoon;  many  of  the  town's  elite  had  begun  to 
arrive.  Bolger  commenced  to  feel  a  certain  awe 
and  wonder,  as  the  young  man  mentioned  by  name 
several  of  the  notables  who  bowed  to  him  in  passing. 
Oddly,  the  detective  experienced  an  anomalous  thrill 
of  pleasure  at  the  pressure  of  the  arm  of  one  ac- 
quainted with  these  stars  of  fashion  and  leaders 
of  the  upper  ten  thousand. 

"  Mr.  Bruce !  "  It  was  not  a  member  of  that 
"  higher  "  life  who  addressed  him,  but  Miss  Flossie. 
Her  face  wore  a  new  look.  "  One  moment !  " 

He  greeted  her  with  the  grace  of  a  Chesterfield. 


264  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Bolger  suffered  them  to  move  a  little  to  one  side, 
just  out  of  earshot,  no  farther. 

"  You  know  —  what  is  going  to  happen?  "  Miss 
Burke  breathed  agitatedly.  He  looked  at  her;  the 
girl  seemed  to  have  undergone  some  subtle  change 
since  last  he  had  seen  her. 

"  I  have  just  been  informed  that  Sir  Archibald 
is  here,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  Such  a  charming 
surprise !  " 

"  '  Surprise  ' !  "  she  repeated,  her  green  eyes  upon 
him.  "  Perhaps ;  but  as  for  '  charming,'  for  you  — " 
Her  voice  seemed  in  the  least  unsteady;  he  raised 
his  brows  slightly,  quizzically.  Instinctively  she 
pressed  nearer;  her  eyes  w;th  their  quick  chang- 
ing lights  were  feline.  "  Listen,"  she  said ;  "  I  had 
almost  given  them  something  very  valuable  to  you. 
I  don't  quite  know  why  I've  changed  my  mind  at 
just  this  last  moment,  the  last  instant  we  may  say  " 
—  with  a  catch  in  her  breath  — "  but  I  have.  I'll 
not  give  it  to  them  —  now ;  I'll  not  do  anything  to 
add  to  what  they  may  have  against  you !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  a  blithe  air 
of  incredulity,  "  if  I  don't  seem  quite  to  under- 
stand !  " 


NEEDS  MUST  265 

"  You  do !  "  she  returned  curtly.  "  Don't  play, 
or  I  may  — " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Burke,"  he  expostulated,  "  it 
is,  believe  me,  you  who  seem  to  be  playing  at 
enigmas;  to  mystify  me  —  perhaps — " 

Her  hand  shot  angrily  into  her  bag;  she  seemed 
to  forget  Mr.  Bolger. 

"  I  think,"  remarked  the  soft  voice  of  Bruce  still 
studying  the  new-comers,  "  Mrs. — "  he  mentioned  a 
name  — "  must  have  recovered  from  the  agony  of 
her  second  divorce.  She  appears  very  well,  as  you 
may  note  —  over  there." 

Miss  Flossie's  face  was  a  study;  she  had  looked 
into  her  bag,  and,  apparently,  had  not  found  what 
she  sought.  Bruce  laughed,  as  at  something  in  the 
vague  distance. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  you  on  the  train,"  he  observed, 
his  glance  returning  casually  to  her.  "  Weren't 
you  in  the  parlor  car  ?  I  usually  patronize  the  com- 
mon cars  myself." 

Her  eyes  were  big  with  growing  enlightenment, 
chagrin,  overweening  anger.  "  When  I  got  out  of 
the  car  that  time  the  train  stopped,  I  forgot  and 
left  my  bag  behind  on  the  seat.  And  you  — "  She 


266  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

paused.  "  I  wish  I  had  that  paper  now,"  she  flashed 
at  him.  "  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  not  to  — " 

Bruce  waved  a  playful  finger.  "  Enigmas !  "  he 
said.  And  then  lightly  — "  Women,  I'm  afraid 
are  sometimes  as  mysterious  as  —  changeable !  " 
Again  he  laughed;  but  as  Bolger  stepped  forward, 
some  of  the  merriment  faded  from  his  lips. 

Was  he  weakening  at  the  supreme  moment,  Miss 
Flossie  now  asked  herself.  Yes,  she  was  sure. 
Angrily,  triumphantly  she  crumpled  her  handker- 
chief in  her  hand.  His  face  looked  a  little  strained, 
in  spite  of  all  his  acting,  as  he  walked  away;  and 
she  who  had  been  sorry  a  short  time  before  for  a 
very  brief  while,  was  now  glad !  —  glad !  He 
hadn't  a  chance,  she  knew,  not  one !  And  he,  Chat- 
field  Bruce,  must  know  it,  too,  as  he  stepped  on, 
with  gayness,  at  best  now  but  simulated.  She  saw 
his  tall  figure,  a  moment  yet,  in  the  distance,  the 
flash  of  his  pale  face;  then  he  and  Bolger  stepped 
into  the  elevator.  But  that  final  look  she  got  of 
him  seemed  to  reiterate  to  her  brain  that  he  was 
not  so  assured  as  he  seemed,  that  he  felt  certain  the 
crucial,  disastrous  moment,  long  hanging  over  him, 
had,  at  last,  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FANTASIA   AND    CAPRICCIO 


in!"  called  out  Sir  Archibald,  and 
Bolger  and  Chatfield  Bruce  entered  the 
elaborately  furnished  parlor  of  the  suite  on  the  sixth 
floor. 

Had  Miss  Burke  seen  Bruce  at  that  moment  she 
would  have  found  certain  of  her  surmises  going  by 
the  board.  If  the  young  man  had  felt  himself 
wavering,  he  had  recovered  ;  he  had  never  appeared 
to  better  advantage  than  now.  His  clothes  draped 
to  perfection  his  tall  figure;  even  his  tie  had  a  deli- 
cate, definite  distinctness  of  its  own;  upon  his  finger 
gleamed  the  curious  ring  of  oriental  design. 
Bruce's  features  were  composed,  indicating  only 
a  gentle  inquiry  and  pleasure  at  this  unexpected 
meeting  again  with  Sir  Archibald.  The  latter  shot 
his  glance  steadily  before  him;  then  into  his  gaze 
came  an  expression  of  satisfaction. 

"  Good  breeding,"  thought  the  Englishman,  and 
267 


268  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

thrust  his  big  hands  into  his  trousers'  pockets.  This 
was  an  antagonist  worthy  of  his  mettle  at  every 
stage,  even  the  last. 

Sir  Archibald  had  pushed  Mr.  Goldberg  rather 
hastily  aside  from  a  table  over  which  the  latter 
was  bending  when  Bolger's  knock  sounded.  The 
parcel,  which  the  owner  of  the  pearls  had  quickly 
started  to  undo,  Bam  ford  had  taken  pains  to  conceal 
beneath  a  few  newspapers,  before  calling  out  for 
the  new-comers  to  enter.  Bruce's  casual  glance,  Sir 
Archibald  now  surmised,  sought  to  find  it,  when  the 
young  man  turned  his  careless  eyes,  after  a  few 
moments,  from  the  other. 

"  Excellent  quarters,"  Bruce  remarked,  his  stick 
at  his  chin,  looking  around  in  apparently  appre- 
ciative survey  of  draperies  and  rugs.  "  Although 
these  steel  cut  engravings  are  a  bit  conventional. 
Too  much  just  what  you'd  expect  in  any  hotel,  don't 
you  know ! "  he  laughed. 

"  Yes ;  they're  comfortable  enough  quarters,"  Sir 
Archibald  also  laughed,  rather  shortly.  "  Although 
it  was  not  exactly  for  that  reason  I  again  sought 
them."  Briton-fashion,  he  leaped,  without  too 
much  delay,  into  the  trench. 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO        269 

Bruce,  if  he  caught  the  remark,  betrayed  no  in- 
ordinate curiosity  as  to  what  reason  had  brought 
Sir  Archibald  there;  his  seemingly  tranquil  look 
turned  to  Mr.  Goldberg,  a  flurried,  confused,  rather 
strange  figure,  or  detail  of  the  picture. 

At  another  time,  the  young  man  might  have 
smiled  at  the  manner  in  which  the  other  had  re- 
peatedly thrust  his  stubby  fingers  into  his  hair  until 
now  it  stood  up  somewhat  preposterously;  but 
Bruce  appeared  to  find  nothing  comic  in  that  fea- 
ture of  the  general  composition;  his  eyes  continued 
to  linger  tentatively  on  Mr.  Goldberg,  as  if  he 
hardly  saw  or  comprehended  that  individual,  in  the 
light  of  a  specific  entity. 

Across  the  room  Caglioni,  seated  on  the  edge  of 
a  great  chair,  noted  and  watched.  Bruce's  glance 
passed  over,  then  returned  to  him,  as  a  connoisseur 
might  bestow  a  second  look  on  a  curiously  alive 
Japanese  carved  figure,  or  animal,  poised  some- 
where, about  to  spring.  The  young  man  even 
suffered  a  slightly  whimsical  expression  to  cross 
his  features.  Caglioni  could  divine  in  it  a 
thought  of  the  night  before,  the  plight  he  had 
been  left  in. 


270  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Bruce's  gaze  now  seemed  to  say :  "  Well,  how 
did  you  get  out  of  it?  "  The  little  man  sat  farther 
forward;  still  only  his  eyes  spoke;  the  other  swung 
his  stick  lightly,  as  if  inadvertently.  The  secretary 
yet  managed  with  an  effort  to  hold  himself  very 
immovable;  for  the  sake  of  what  remained  to  come. 
Sir  Archibald  spoke: 

"I  trust  we  are  not  inconveniencing  you?" 
with  sardonic  humor. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  Bruce.  "  As  I  informed  your 
affable  commissionaire,"  indicating  Bolger,  "  I  was 
quite  charmed  to  receive  the  glad  tidings  that 
one  so  distinguished  had  again  appeared  in  our 
midst." 

Bam  ford  colored  slightly;  his  look  began  to  be 
disagreeable.  "  Then  we  aren't  interfering  with 
any  of  your  numerous  engagements  ?  "  came  from 
his  lips  with  a  barely  perceptible  sneer. 

"When  I  accepted  your  charming  invitation,  I 
could  think  of  no  other  engagement  at  the  time," 
answered  the  young  man.  "  Since  then  —  our  little 
conversation  in  the  palm  room  "•  -  to  Bolger  — "  a 
small  matter  has  occurred  to  me  which  may,  I  fear, 
abridge  somewhat  our  delightful  interview." 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO         271 

"'Abridge,'  eh?"  the  other  laughed  harshly. 
"  You  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  it  over  ?  " 

"  There  is  another  call  on  my  time,"  observed 
Bruce  gently.  "  Not  an  imperative  one,  not  ex- 
actly necessary,  still,  one  that  appeals  to  the  in- 
clinations, you  understand." 

Sir  Archibald  drew  out  a  big  cigar;  he  had  been 
initiated  into  the  national  game  of  poker  and  had 
had  his  experiences,  on  shipboard  and  on  the  native 
soil,  with  that  innocent  manoeuver,  called  "  bluffing." 
His  expression  of  hostility  became  tinctured  with 
a  small  measure  of  commendation;  the  young  man 
was,  after  all,  playing  his  cards  with  desperation, 
daring,  rare  sang-froid, —  poor  cards  that  gave  him 
no  opportunity  to  win  out,  resourceful  and  skil- 
ful, though  he  might  be.  Sir  Archibald,  in  his  own 
mind,  was  quite  sure  of  this,  and  he  felt  positive 
that  Bruce  knew  it,  also;  the  latter  but  kept  stub- 
bornly to  his  place  at  the  green  board,  fighting,  as 
it  were,  until  the  last,  figuring  every  chance,  pre- 
serving a  bold  front,  a  blithe,  easy  one;  he  would 
go  down  with  a  gay  laugh.  The  Englishman  had 
the  grace  to  offer  him  a  cigar;  Bruce  refused  cour- 
teously. 


272  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

From  somewhere,  far  below,  came  a  few  notes 
of  music;  a  trill,  dying  in  the  distance,  was  wafted 
in  through  an  open  window.  The  socially  most 
popular  cantatrice  whose  actually  last  farewell 
could  even  summon  people  to  town,  was,  no  doubt, 
now  engaged  in  charming  her  admirers  with  one 
of  her  grand  arias. 

"  Let's  get  down  to  business !  "  Mr.  Goldberg 
broke  forth,  rather  explosively.  His  feet  fidgeted. 

"  Business?  "  observed  Bruce. 

'  Yes ;  this  ain't  no  social  occasion,"  viciously. 

The  young  man  allowed  his  gaze  to  rest  once 
more  on  the  other.  "  There  is  a  little  matter  ot 
business,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  musingly. 
"  Thanks  so  much  for  reminding  me." 

"Little?"  repeated  Mr.  Goldberg.  "I  don't 
know,"  with  ill-concealed  fury,  "  that  I  should  call 
it  very  '  little.'  " 

"  True,"  murmured  Bruce,  "  it  might  be  deemed 
of  some  slight  importance  to  you,  but  to  speak  of 
it  here  " —  deprecatorily.  "  For  your  own  sake," 
he  waved  a  hand  slightly,  "  shall  we  not  take  it 
up  later,  by  ourselves  ?  It  would  really  seem  more 
proper,  don't  you  know." 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO         273 

"  I  guess  there's  no  time  like  the  present," 
blurted  the  other,  his  glance  swinging  stormily 
toward  the  table  and  what  lay  on  it,  concealed  be- 
neath the  newspapers.  He  took  a  hurried  step  in 
that  direction,  when  Sir  Archibald  put  out  a  de- 
taining arm. 

"  If  you  please !  "  he  expostulated.  "  All 'in  good 
time,  my  dear  sir!  " 

Bruce's  glance  now  saw  something  peeping  out 
from  beneath  the  white  papers  —  a  bit  of  yellow,  an 
end  of  the  parcel.  His  figure  seemed  to  stiffen. 
Sir  Archibald  observed  the  involuntary  movement. 
His  thick  lips  relaxed;  his  jaw,  less  firmly  set, 
showed  evidence  of  returning  good  humor.  How 
much  longer  would  the  other  hold  to  his  high- 
handed manner?  When  would  he  cast  it  aside  and 
break  down  altogether? 

Sir  Archibald  had  seen  pretty  stiff  men  lose  their 
grit  before  this,  fellows  gone  wrong  who  came  of 
good  sporting  breed;  he  had,  on  occasions,  even 
acted  in  the  role  of  disciplinarian  and  magistrate  in 
the  course  of  his  varied  career  in  the  service.  To 
observe  to  what  depths  of  funk  and  white  feather 
a  mettlesome  spirit  may,  in  extremity,  be  cast,  had 


i274  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

constituted,  once  or  twice,  a  rather  curious  study  for 
him. 

"  You  were  speaking,"  he  remarked  with  grim 
irony  to  Bruce,  "  of  a  little  matter  of  business  with 
Mr.  Goldberg.  We  are  all  acquaintances  here," 
there  was  a  world  of  unctuousness  behind  the 
words,  "  and  what  you  have  to  say,  you  may,  with 
Mr.  Goldberg's  permission " —  that  gentleman 
nodded  over-vigorously  — "  tell  us  all." 

"  No ;  no,"  said  Bruce,  recovering  on  the  instant 
his  debonnaire  bearing;  "I  really  shouldn't,  believe 
me."  Caglioni's  eyes  became  more  piercing;  a 
deep  breath  escaped  him.  "  Well,  since  you  desire 
to  make  a  rather  unimportant  private  matter,  pub- 
lic," went  on  Bruce  in  the  same  tone,  "  it  was  on 
my  mind  to  speak  to  Mr.  Goldberg  about  tendering 
my  resignation,  because  " —  as  that  person  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak — "my  conscience  (pardon  the 
the  use  of  a  word,  almost  obsolete!)  has  for  some 
time  suggested  to  me  the  advisability  of  such  a 
course." 

"  Your  — "  began  Mr.  Goldberg,  with  bulging 
eyes. 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO         275 

"  '  Conscience ! '  "  repeated  the  young  man,  with 
a  certain  whimsical,  firm  dignity.  "  I  fear  it  is  a 
somewhat  lost  attribute  among  certain  of  our 
bustling,  striving  classes.  Be  that  as  it  may,  shall 
I,"  with  quizzical  self-interrogation,  "  constitute 
myself  my  neighbor's  keeper?  No."  Sir  Archi- 
bald got  up;  took  a  step  back  and  forth. 

"  However,"  went  on  Bruce  airily,  "  we  are  all 
our  own  keepers.  Perhaps  I  should  not  in  this 
case  be  too  particular,"  meditatively ;  "  all  the  other 
houses  are  '  in  it.'  However  — "  He  made  a  ges- 
ture. 

"'It?'  '  came  quickly  from  Goldberg. 

"  Or  against  it !  "  lightly.  "  A  stupid  tribute, 
forsooth!  "  There  seemed  a  pithy  pungency  in  his 
inflections  now. 

Sir  Archibald  halted;  he  did  not  quite  under- 
stand ;  all  this  was  certainly  Greek  to  him.  Mr. 
Bolger  began  to  shift  about.  He,  too,  did  not  com- 
prehend the  drift  of  the  talk,  or  why  it  had  been 
suffered  to  "  drift."  From  his  standpoint,  there 
was  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that,  to  his  official 
sense,  seemed  so  simple.  Goldberg's  face,  however, 


276  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

began  to  be  a  study  in  enlightenment;  some  of  the 
red  faded  from  it;  the  surface  presented  rather  a 
mottled  appearance. 

"  Perhaps  since  you  force  me  to  speak  publicly," 
said  Bruce  to  this  last  person,  "  it  would  be  better 
for  yourself,  if  we  employ  the  language  of  your 
fatherland."  He  uttered  these  words  in  German 
and  went  on  in  that  same  tongue :  "  Sir  Archibald 
does  not  understand;  one  can  tell  from  his  expres- 
sion. He  speaks  French,  of  course,  but  German, 
the  Sprache  of  his  hated  rivals," —  with  a  laugh  — 
"  no,  he  would  never  condescend  to  that.  Bolger, 
I'm  sure,  knows  only  American,  and,  as  for  Cag- 
lioni,  he,  too  does  not  comprehend  one  word  I'm 
saying.  Nicht  wahr,  du  dummer  Kerlf ''  He  ad- 
dressed the  secretary  suddenly.  That  person  only 
glared ;  Bruce  continued  cheerily : 

"  But  we  were  speaking  of  conscience,  and  evaded 
tributes  to  Uncle  Sam  for  the  alleged  protection 
of  our  overgrown  infant  industries.  Du  lieber 
Gott! " 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  cigarette  case  and 
held  it  poised  delicately  in  his  fingers.  Sir  Archi- 
bald stood  like  a  statue  of  strength;  endured  and 


"Mr.   Goldberg  can't   compromise  in  this   case  now" — Page  279 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO         277 

waited,  with  a  strong  man's  patience.  What  mat- 
tered a  little  comedy,  more  or  less,  before  the 
tragedy?  He  felt  himself  master. 

"Protection?"  observed  Bruce,  in  the  same 
frivolous  tones,  with  faultless  Teutonic  accent,  ex- 
tracting as  he  spoke,  from  the  case  a  cigarette, 
which,  however,  he  did  not  light.  "  A  ridiculous 
archaic,  Chinese  kind  of  great  wall?  Perhaps! 
Still,  one  that  exists  to  exact  toll  from  the  mer- 
chandise-laden camels  and  mules  that  stop  at  its 
gates  —  or  from  some  of  them  —  for  there  are 
those  that  slip  through!  One  might  not  stick  at  a 
small  evasion.  But  when  it  reaches  a  figure  of  say, 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  a 
single  year!  You  will  accept  my  resignation,  will 
you  not?  Yes?  I  read  it  in  your  face.  And 
now  — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  The  ironical  look 
faded;  the  smile  returned,  became  apologetic. 

"  It  is  really  too  bad  to  talk  business  on  such  a 
day!  "  broke  from  him  now  in  English.  "  All  sun- 
shine without!  Would  it  not  be  more  fitting  to 
speak  of  lighter  matters  —  music,  for  instance?" 
as,  again,  the  faint  sound  of  a  woman's  high  tones 


278  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

was  heard.  "  '  Amico  —  amore ' —  What  a  beauti- 
ful phrase !  " 

Mr.  Goldberg  said  not  a  word.  Caglioni  leaned 
forward  as  if  he  divined  the  quarry  had  somehow 
drawn  back  a  little  too  far  from  them;  he  even 
cast  a  quick,  faintly  apprehensive  look  at  Sir  Archi- 
bald. The  Englishman's  poise  was  that  of  a  Colos- 
sus; his  powerful  face  wore  a  derisive  look;  as  he 
grasped  the  back  of  a  chair,  the  big  veins  stood  out 
upon  his  hand.  He  was  a  study  of  vigor,  of  re- 
sistless, puissant  purpose.  Beside  him,  Bruce  looked 
slender,  slight. 

"Farceur!"  Sir  Archibald's  lips  breathed  con- 
temptuously; his  heavy  shoulders  were  expressive 
of  positiveness ;  brute  hostility.  His  eyes  shone 
with  that  deadly  look  the  hunted  animal  in  the 
wilds  must  have  seen  in  them,  when  the  English- 
man, with  irrevocable  intent;  glanced  over  the 
brown,  shining  tube  of  his  rifle.  Between  him  and 
Bruce  was  ever  the  suggestion  of  another  presence, 
existing  there,  only  in  the  mind,  yet  as  tangible  as 
if  it  stood  there  in  the  flesh. 

A  girl's  figure;  the  blue  of  her  eyes;  the  raven 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO        279 

blackness  of  her  hair!  Sir  Archibald  regarded 
Bruce;  Mr.  Goldberg;  all  evidences  of  zest  had 
unaccountably  departed  from  the  latter.  Sir  Archi- 
bald frowned  deeply.  With  a  brusk  gesture,  he 
whipped  the  newspapers  from  the  parcel  and  brought 
down  a  heavy  fist  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  Mr.  Goldberg  can't  compromise  in  this  case 
now,"  he  added  resiliency.  "  It's  too  late.  Hocus- 
pocus  with  him  won't  do.  There's  more  than  the 
pearls,  in  clearing  this  affair  up;  Mr.  Page  stays 
back  of  it."  He  indicated  with  his  drawn  brows 
the  detective,  Bolger.  "  And  it's  going  to  be  set- 
tled here  —  now !  " 

Bruce  had  the  courage  not  to  wince;  he  may 
have  paled,  but  his  face  had  half-turned  from  the 
speaker.  Toward  the  door? 

Mr.  Bolger  stepped  to  it;  the  sharp,  metallic 
click  of  a  key  followed.  Bruce's  hand  rested 
against  a  bit  of  drapery,  as  if  to  derive  a  little 
needed  support  from  it.  His  gaze  turned  to  Gold- 
berg, but  that  person  looked  down.  At  a  loss? 
Weighing  the  pros  and  cons?  One  of  Sir  Archi- 
bald's hands  was  in  a  side  pocket;  the  young  man 


280  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

instinctively  knew  what  his  fingers  grasped  and  held 
in  readiness  there.  Caglioni's  lips  protruded;  the 
yellow  teeth  were  in  evidence. 

Bruce,  though  so  outnumbered,  drew  himself  up 
straight.  Sir  Archibald  saw  no  signs  of  flinching 
now;  even  at  the  moment  when  the  knife,  poised 
over  Bruce,  seemed  about  to  fall,  the  young  man's 
eyes  continued  to  rest  on  the  parcel.  With  forced 
surprise?  Casual  wonder?  Of  course! 

Sir  Archibald's  thick  lips  indulged  in  a  sound 
like  a  laugh;  the  secretary  inhaled  his  breath  after 
the  hissing  fashion  of  little  Nippon.  Bolger's  fin- 
gers sought  his  hip  pocket.  He  drew  nearer,  watch- 
ful, ready  for  the  climax.  One  could  not  tell,  in 
cases  of  this  kind,  what  a  person,  desperate,  driven 
into  a  corner  might  do,  or  at  least  might  attempt  to 
do  — 

"  I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Bruce  curtly ; 
"but  I  think  that  is  my  parcel." 

"  It  is  a  parcel  you  sent,"  corrected  Sir  Archi- 
bald. 

"  To  be  called  for  at  the  express  office,"  went 
on  the  young  man,  with  sharp  accents ;  "  but  not  by 
you." 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO        281 

"  No  ?  You  did  not  expect  that,  did  you  ? 
However,  not  only  have  we  called  for  it,"  observed 
Sir  Archibald  calmly,  "  but  we  are  going  so  far 
toward  taking  the  law  into  our  own  hands,  as  to 
open  it." 

"  I  forbid  you,"  said  Bruce  trenchantly,  with 
flashing  eyes.  "  You  have  absolutely  no  right ;  a 
purloined  parcel  — " 

"  Purloined  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  and 
tore  contemptuously,  roughly,  at  the  fastenings. 
His  strong  hands  soon  broke  them,  cast  the  twine 
aside  and  ripped  open  the  heavy  paper. 

Bruce  stepped  quickly  forward,  with  menacing 
gesture,  but  Bolger  stopped  him.  "  No,  you 
don't !  "  said  that  person,  and  something  gleaming 
in  his  hand,  emphasized  his  words. 

Sir  Archibald  unfolded  the  garments  that  were 
revealed  and  shook  them  savagely.  An  expression 
of  surprise  came  to  his  face.  He  shook  them  again, 
with  more  violence ;  then  his  —  other  hands  began 
to  search  hastily,  frantically. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  breathed  Sir  Archibald  thickly. 

"  Not  here !  "  muttered  Caglioni. 

A    sudden    consternation    fell    upon    all    except 


282  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

Bruce.  "  If  you  have  done  shaking  my  clothes," 
he  began,  with  just  resentment. 

No  one  replied.,  He  walked  toward  the  door; 
they  did  not  try  to  stop  him. 

"  I  shall  expect,"  said  the  young  man,  "  my 
evening  suit  to  be  returned  to  me  at  my  rooms 
without  delay.  It  is  the  only  one,  such  as  it  is, 
that  I  possess,  and,  I'm  quite  sure,  it  won't  fit  any 
of  you." 

The  key  clicked.  The  door  opened,  then  closed. 
The  three  men  looked  at  one  another. 

"  Find  that  damned  valet  of  mine,"  roared  Sir 
Archibald  to  Bolger,  "  and  send  him  up  here  at 
once." 

"Nothing  important  happened,  eh?"  said  Sir 
Archibald  to  the  now  rather  pallid  James,  standing 
before  them.  "  You  say,  however,  some  one  ran 
into  him  at  the  station,  just  after  he  had  left  the 
train?" 

"Yes,  sir;  a  dark  man,  well-dressed." 

"  Might  have  been  an  Oriental  ?  " 

James  conceded  he  might  have  been. 

Sir  Archibald,   in  an  unusual  outburst  of  tem- 


FANTASIA  AND  CAPRICCIO         283 

per,  threw  open  his  hands.     "  It  is  quite  clear ! " 
he  exclaimed  with  a  savage  oath. 

\ 

The  singer  had  just  executed  a  beautiful  ca- 
denza and  received  much  applause  and  a  gorgeous 
bouquet,  as  Bruce,  who  had  remembered  he  had 
sometime  ago  subscribed  for  the  occasion,  entered 
the  concert-hall  below  and  sank  unobtrusively  into 
a  seat  at  the  side.  He  saw  but  a  final  flutter  of 
her;  then  the  orchestra  burst  into  melody,  or  dis- 
cord; a  modern  piece  resounded.  The  metaphysics 
it  conveyed  filtered  through  the  discerning  listener's 
brains.  What  superb  tangles,  what  irreconcilable 
intricacies ! 

Bruce  yielded  to  the  spell.  Leaning  back,  he 
half  closed  his  eyes;  it  promised  to  be  a  delightful 
afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    WARNING 

BUT  Bruce  had  not  calculated  on  a  few  disagree- 
able after-moments  more  trying  than  any  he 
had  heretofore  undergone.  Buttoning  his  coat, 
about  an  hour  later,  he  started  to  walk  to  his  rooms. 
The  concert,  a  special,  out-of-the-season  affair,  had 
terminated  early,  to  give  people  time  to  flit  back 
to  their  summer  places.  The  gaiety  of  Fifth  Ave- 
nue was  not  that  of  the  metropolis  at  its  best; 
nearly  all  of  the  dwellings  were  closed;  a  mo- 
notonous array  of  windows  with  curtains  drawn 
looked  out  upon  the  park. 

At  length,  the  young  man's  brisk  pace  brought 
him  to  the  big  building  on  a  comparatively  quiet 
street  where  his  rooms  were  located.  At  one  side 
of  the  marble  entrance  hall  was  a  little  waiting- 
room  for  visitors.  Passing  it,  to  reach  the  elevator, 

284 


A  WARNING  285 

Bruce  noticed  the  draperies  move.  Then  he  saw 
some  one,  and  stopped,  as  if  stunned.  Recovering 
himself  with  a  great  effort,  he  stepped  in. 

For  the  first  time  that  day  composure  seemed 
to  leave  him;  his  face  had  gone  pale.  Assurance 
and  he  were  surely  strangers;  he  looked  at  her 
as  one  might  stare  at  a  ghost. 

"Miss  Wood!"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  were  brilliant.  Beneath  her  composure, 
could  be  felt  a  great  perturbation;  she  looked  at 
him  strangely. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  why  I  came,  unless  — "  She 
paused,  her  hands  tightly  clasped.  It  was  easy  to 
see  she  was  not  herself.  She  stood  there  as  if  be- 
neath a  spell. 

His  face  was  troubled.  "  Never  mind !  "  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone. 

Did  he  not  know  —  did  she  herself  not  know 
what  had  brought  her  there? 

"I  —  I  found  the  key  near  Mr.  Goldberg's,"  she 
said,  with  an  uplift  of  the  dark  lashes. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  he  answered.     No  more. 

Why  did  he  not  say  something  else  ?     She  waited. 

"  I  came  because  I  thought  you  might,  must  be 


286  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

in  great  danger  —  terrible  trouble."  The  words 
faltered. 

"  No  danger !  "  he  exclaimed,  almost  bruskly. 
And  then,  with  less  severity,  he  added,  "  It  was 
rather  foolish  of  you." 

"No  danger!"  she  repeated,  as  if  not  hearing 
his  last  words.  "  But  I  overheard  Sir  Archibald 
and  his  valet  — "  A  flush  dyed  her  face.  "  I 
caught  words,  I  do  not  know  just  what  —  terrible 
words  —  or  what  seemed  beneath  them  —  his  tone. 
And  you  had  gone — " 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said  gravely,  "  all  is  as  well 
with  me  as  it  ever  can  be.  Your  father  knows 
you  are  here?  "  abruptly. 

"I  —  I  believe  I  said  something  about  the  sub- 
scription concert." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  You  have  just  time 
for  the  last  express."  As  he  spoke,  he  held  back 
the  curtain ;  she  walked  out  and  followed  him  to  the 
front  door.  A  taxi  was  passing.  Bruce  nodded 
to  the  man;  he  drew  up  to  the  curb.  The  girl  now 
was  very  pale. 

"I  —  I  —  don't  understand,"  she  said ;  "  I  wish 
I  did." 


A  WARNING  287 

He  looked  at  her.  "  Perhaps,  it  is  as  well  not," 
i»e  said  slowly. 

"You  mean  we  shall  never  meet  again?"  she 
said. 

"  Yes."     His  face,  too,  was  pale. 

"  Then  I  shall  never  know  more  than  now  — 
always  be  in  the  dark,  the  terrible  dark — " 

"  Wait !  "  He  considered.  "  Will  you  see  me 
once  more,  just  once,  so  that,  perhaps,  you  may 
understand  just  a  little  better?  " 

"  I  remember,"  she  said,  "  you  were  brave  for 
me,  and,"  with  a  trembling  smile,  "  I  liked  you 
for  it.  When  one  makes  a  friend  — " 

The  words  died  away.  A  cold  draft  from  the 
half-open  door  of  the  hall  swept  out  upon  them;  she 
shivered  slightly. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  if  you  will  so  honor  me,  we 
shall  meet  then  once  more.  Perhaps  I  can  ex- 
plain better  —  such  little  explanation,"  bitterly,  "  as 
there  may  be,  to  make !  " 

"When?"  said  the  girl,  with  clearer,  more 
steadfast  eyes. 

"  The  night  of  the  Japanese  play  —  at  your  house, 
if  you  will." 


288  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  she  said.  "  Somehow,  I  believe  in 
you.  I  can't  understand;  I  don't.  Anything  you 
may  say,  to  make  me  know,  to  — "  She  hesitated. 

"  To  clear  up  the  horrible  doubts  ?  "  he  suggested. 

A  mist  sprang  to  her  eyes.  She  moved  toward 
the  curb  and  stepped  into  the  waiting  vehicle. 

"  Grand  Central  station,"  he  said  to  the  driver. 

"  Aren't  you  — "  She  looked  at  the  place  by  her 
side. 

A  radiant  light  came  to  his  face.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand; she  was  full  of  doubts;  but  she  did  not 
altogether  disbelieve  in  him.  He  bent  his  head  as 
to  a  princess,  peerless,  unattainable,  beautiful.  Her 
hair  was  a  dark  cloud ;  the  mist  in  her  eyes  like  rain, 
momentarily  dimming  the  blue. 

"  Thank  you;  but  if  you  don't  need  me  — " 

She  sank  back  and  said  no  further  word.  "  He 
is  not  in  danger ;  what  a  mad,  foolish  trip !  —  a  hor- 
rible dream !  "  Thus  she  may  have  thought.  The 
taxi  moved  away.  Bruce  stood  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  even  after  it  had  disappeared. 

"  I  slipped  your  mail  under  your  door,  sir." 
The  voice  was  that  of  Stebbins,  the  janitor. 


A  WARNING  289 

Bruce  moved  automatically  back  into  the  hall,  and 
took  the  elevator  to  his  rooms. 

His  mail  was  large  and  comprised  many  invita- 
tions. Hunting,  fishing,  yachting,  golfing  and  polo- 
playing  constituted  a  few  of  the  inducements  held 
forth  to  summon  him  here  and  there,  away  from  the 
noisy  metropolis.  He  set  them  aside,  to  be  an- 
swered punctiliously,  with  conventional  regrets. 
He  had  not  realized  how  popular  he  was  until  he 
surveyed  the  bulging  pile  of  snow-white  envelopes. 

Popular?  He  looked  at  his  statue  of  Kwan-on; 
that  astute  young  woman,  in  silver,  seemed  to  smile 
sardonically  at  him.  What  humor,  what  irony 
lurked  in  the  corners  of  her  lips;  she  had  never 
appeared  less  gracious,  his  lady  of  mercy ! 

He  returned  to  his  mail.  A  letter  from  China 
fell  from  the  next  envelope  he  opened  —  news  of 
business,  good  business.  He  had  almost  forgotten 
there  was  such  a  business.  He  read  to  the  end  of 
the  polite  communication  indifferently;  with  no 
second  thought,  laid  it  down.  But  the  next  missive 
held  his  attention  longer.  His  brows  drew  together. 
Near  his  elbow  in  the  one  vase  he  permitted  himself, 


290  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

a  dried  rose,  with  every  semblance  of  its  roseate  life 
gone,  hung  feebly  over  the  cold  porcelain  rim. 

Bruce,  regarding  the  paper  before  him,  read 
again ;  looked  more  closely  at  the  signature. 

"Ting!     Urgent  need!" 

A  new,  more  pressing  and  dangerous  complica- 
tion had  unexpectedly  arisen.  Bruce  got  up.  Leav- 
ing the  room  hastily,  he  carefully  locked  his  door, 
descended  to  the  street  and  made  his  way  to  a 
near-by  station  of  the  Elevated.  For  what  seemed 
to  him  an  interminable  time,  the  train  whirled  him 
on.  At  length,  however,  he  got  out  and  walked 
some  distance.  Night  was  falling;  the  lights  of 
the  squalid  neighborhood  in  which  he  found  him- 
self seemed  battling  with  the  shadows. 

As  he  made  his  way  quickly  up  this  street  and 
down  that,  he  became  for  the  first  time  aware 
of  two  slouching  figures  he  remembered  having 
noticed  in  the  train.  They  moved  after  him,  keep- 
ing him  ever  in  sight.  They  were  rough,  unpleas- 
ant-looking fellows.  He  did  not  know  them,  but 
that  signified  nothing;  they  had  merely  superseded 
James.  Sir  Archibald  was  by  no  means  yet  beaten ; 
he  confessed  only  to  a  temporary  rebuff.  Bruce 


A  WARNING  291 

had  reason  now  to  entertain  an  even  greater  respect 
for  this  leader  among  his  adversaries.  With  sin- 
gular swiftness  had  Sir  Archibald  shifted  his  tactics; 
concentrated  with  adroitness  and  skill  his  forces  into 
a  channel  which  would  lead  whither?  Bruce  feared 
he  knew  only  too  well. 

A  little  farther,  and  he  stopped  abruptly,  on  pre- 
tense of  looking  in  a  miserable  shop  window.  The 
fellows  following  almost  rubbed  elbows  with  him; 
nevertheless,  he  seemed  not  to  notice. 

Near  by,  his  alert  senses  caught  a  faint  tinkling, 
made  by  tiny  bits  of  glass  that,  hanging  pendant 
and  swayed  by  the  wind,  gave  forth  a  crystalline 
murmur.  An  odd,  half-timorous  little  sound,  that 
seemed  to  shrink  from  mingling  with  the  mul- 
tisonous  intonation  of  the  great  metropolis,  to 
whisper  apart,  as  if,  indeed,  according  to  certain 
affirmation,  the  more  or  less  honorable  spirits  of 
the  dead  babbled  their  messages  through  this  dulcet 
medium. 

A  moment  Bruce  stood ;  then  he  wheeled  suddenly 
and  crossed  a  threshold.  He  found  himself  in 
one  of  the  tea-houses  and  restaurants,  frequented 
mostly  by  Orientals.  Seemingly  not  a  large  place, 


292  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

it  was  really  a  net-work  of  rooms  of  sufficient  size 
to  accommodate  many  guests,  transient  and  other- 
wise. At  a  far  end  of  one  of  the  front  apartments, 
a  little  girl  with  that  Raphael  face  and  expression 
encountered  so  often  in  the  Orient,  picked  from  a 
musical  instrument  the  stray  single  notes  of  what 
was  intended  to  be  a  melody. 

Bruce  took  his  place  at  a  small  side  table  and  an 
Oriental  brought  him  a  pot  of  white,  steaming 
liquor.  The  young  man  toyed  with  the  egg-shell- 
like  cup  into  which  it  was  poured  while  he  glanced 
around.  The  two  fellows  he  had  observed  on  the 
Elevated  and  afterward  had  remained  without,  near 
the  front  entrance,  presumably.  From  the  next 
room  came  the  low  murmur  of  voices. 

The  young  man  listened.  A  native  banquet  was 
evidently  in  progress,  for  a  waiter  went  by  with  the 
steaming  towels  the  guests  were  wont  frequently 
to  mop  their  faces  with.  Bruce  stopped  his  own 
waiter ;  paid,  and  spoke  to  him.  The  latter  nodded, 
indicated  with  his  hand  and  the  young  man  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  back  of  the  place  through  a  side 
hall.  Here  were  several  winding  ways  and  a  num- 
ber of  doors.  One  of  these  the  young  man  opened, 


A  WARNING  293 

then  crossed  a  narrow  court  and  found  himself  not 
long  afterward  in  another  little  passage  which  led 
into  a  small  room. 

The  one  he  had  stepped  into  that  night  when 
Sir  Archibald,  his  secretary  and  Miss  Wood  had 
interrupted  a  certain  visit  on  his  part  at  Ting's! 
He  had  hardly  known  her  then;  much  had  trans- 
pired since.  It  was  only  the  night  before  he  had 
danced  with  her. 

Could  so  much  history  be  compressed  in  a  day? 
He  stood  in  darkness  now,  thinking  of  her.  But 
twenty- four  hours  before  had  been  movement  — 
joy  —  dazzling  lights!  Now  his  hands  reaching 
out  touched  but  that  emptiness,  his  future  portion. 
Another  would  woo  her  and  win  her  —  this  strong 
aggressive  Englishman,  with  his  titles  and  landed 
interests;  she  would  rule  in  the  stately  and  superb 
home  of  the  Bamfords.  The  romance  for  Bruce 
had  been  very  brief;  the  awakening  had  come  with 
stunning  abruptness.  Dreams,  dreams!  That's 
what  one  got  for  dreaming.  An  hour  of  wonderful 
glamour;  and  afterward  —  how  he  could  laugh  at 
himself  there  in  the  black  night! 

He  threw  back  his  head  abruptly;  it  was  no  time 


294  THE  SOCIAL  B\JCANEER 

for  such  thoughts.  The  need  for  action  pressed  on 
him;  he  had  use  for  his  wits  now,  truly.  Caglioni 
had  hit  upon  a  definite  trail  at  last.  He  held  the 
thread  delicately  but  surely;  the  net  was  out,  and 
the  secretary,  masterhand  in  that  oriental  environ- 
ment, was  drawing  it  in  —  with  what  delight,  what 
feverish  zest! 

Or,  came  the  chilling  possibility,  perhaps  it  had 
already  been  drawn  in!  Bruce  held  his  head  to  the 
door  communicating  with  the  inner  room.  From  it 
came  no  sound;  an  ominous  stillness  reigned.  His 
fingers  pressed  somewhere  on  the  framework.  The 
door  opened;  he  stepped  in. 

The  room,  dimly  lighted  with  wax  candles,  was 
empty;  a  faint  aromatic  odor  filled  the  air;  on  its 
scarlet  string,  the  bit  of  jade  was  the  only  thing 
that  moved.  Bruce  stood  still,  in  the  center  of  that 
strange  apartment;  grotesque  trifles  on  shelves 
melted  into  shadows ;  a  crimson  cloak  in  a  dim  cor- 
ner looked  like  a  sanguinary  pool.  He  held  his 
head  somewhat  high;  his  eyes  gleamed.  The  last 
stand!  Well,  so  be  it!  His  gaze  caressed  a  small 
vial  he  took  from  his  pocket,  then  suddenly  sharp- 
ened, shifted. 


A  WARNING  295 

A  soft  patter  —  patter  without  caught  his  atten- 
tion. They  had  come.  The  other  way  was 
guarded,  the  more  devious  way  out  through  the 
restaurant.  They  had  set  the  snare  and  he  had 
walked  into  it.  And  yet  he  could  not  well  have 
done  otherwise. 

But  stay!  The  hand  busy  at  the  complicated 
Chinese  lock  was  a  quiet  one;  now  one  bolt  shot 
back  softly,  then  another.  Bruce  waited ;  a  breath- 
less moment  and  the  door  suddenly  was  flung  noise- 
lessly open;  as  quickly  closed  again  and  relocked. 
Ting,  panting,  agitated,  with  consternation,  fear  in 
his  eyes,  stood  before  the  young  man. 

"They  are  following?"  Bruce  spoke  quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"How  many?" 

"  One ;  but  there  will  be  more." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"  Yellow,  with  a  black  beard." 

"  Caglioni !  "  murmured  Bruce.  "  Of  course. 
You  wrote  me  from  where  ?  " 

"  The  messenger  office." 

The  other  looked  down.  "  And  he  let  you  do 
it?"  half  to  himself.  "Why?"  It  was  not 


296  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

difficult  to  surmise;  now  were  they,  two,  there  to- 
gether, they,  and  the  —  "  But  how,"  said  the 
young  man,  in  a  tense,  clear,  though  low  voice, 
"  did  it  happen  that  he  chanced  to  catch  sight  of 
you  in  the  first  place  ?  " 

"  He  is  cunning  as  the  fox.  He  learned  what 
ship  sailed  to-day  for  the  Orient,  and  saw  Ting  as 
he  would  have  gone  aboard." 

"  And  so  you  dodged  back  ?  "  The  young  man 
laughed  recklessly.  Cunning,  truly,  was  Caglioni, 
as  Ting  said.  "  And  swift !  "  the  young  man  added 
in  his  own  thoughts.  While  he,  Bruce,  had  been 
listening  to  modern  musical  idiosyncrasies,  with 
dolt-like  absorption,  the  secretary  had  called  for  a 
paper,  looked  at  the  steamship  list  and  acted  accord- 
ingly. 

From  consideration  of  what  James  might  have 
said  about  some  one  bumping  into  Bruce  at  the  sta- 
tion, to  this  searching  the  press  for  news  of  the 
first  outward-bound  steamer  for  the  Mediterranean 
and  the  Red  Sea,  had  constituted  a  logical  and 
quick  mental  process  on  the  part  of  Caglioni. 

"  Perhaps  you  got  rid  of  him.     It  may  be,  he 


A  WARNING  297 

did  not  follow  you  here  ? "  observed  Bruce  with 
sudden  hope  in  his  voice. 

Ting's  answer  dispelled  any  possible  optimism 
on  the  subject;  he  gazed  out  through  a  narrow 
aperture  in  the  heavy  blinds  into  the  street.  "  He 
is  there,"  he  said,  "and  another  —  a  big  man." 

"  Sir  Archibald,"  murmured  Bruce.  Again  he 
looked  at  the  tiny  vial,  a  dainty,  beautiful  curio  in 
its  minute  way,  and  once  more  put  it  back. 
"  Tiens!  "  he  laughed.  "  Not  yet !  " 

"  They  are  coming  this  way !  "  said  Ting. 

"  Well,  let  them !  As  the  gods,  or  the  immortal 
spirits  will !  "  A  precipitate  light  shone  from  his 
eyes.  "  We'll  play  out  the  game." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    SNARE 

THE  thoroughfare  was  narrow  and  dark  in 
places,  but  at  that  point  the  gleam  of  a 
street  lamp  not  many  yards  distant  cast  an  uncer- 
tain glimmer  on  surrounding  objects.  Through  a 
fine  slanting  rain,  almost  a  mist,  that  had  begun  to 
fall,  the  wavering  light  revealed  for  an  instant  two 
figures  who  had  now  stopped  in  a  doorway  across 
the  street  and  a  little  aside  from  Ting's  modest 
establishment.  Then,  having  lent  grudging  visi- 
bility to  them  and  the  immediate  environment,  the 
glow  suddenly  sputtered  and  nearly  went  out,  but 
seeming  to  reconsider  its  threatening  intention  of 
plunging  that  section  of  the  thoroughfare  into  total 
gloom,  flared  up  once  more  and  showed  another 
person,  roughly  dressed,  coming  around  a  corner 
and  approaching  at  a  quick,  shambling  gait. 

This  third  man  paused  at  the  sight  of  the  two 
men  in  the  semi-shelter  of  the  doorway;  one  of 

298 


THE  SNARE  299 

the  latter  who  held  a  cigar  that  glowed  like  a  tiny 
coal,  spoke  to  the  new-comer  with  sharp,  imperative 
inquiry. 

"  He's  gone  into  the  restaurant,"  replied  the  third 
person,  "  and  he's  there  now,  unless  — "  He  broke 
off.  "  There's  a  back  entrance  from  that  place  into 
this  shop,"  he  added  abruptly,  nodding  toward 
Ting's  door.  "  And  maybe  he's  made  use  of  it 
and  is  in  there." 

Sir  Archibald  replied  with  a  brief  order;  the 
man  at  once  turned  and  walked  hastily  back  the  way 
he  had  come.  Caglioni's  eyes  followed  him,  a 
black  shadow  on  the  faintly  shining  stones,  then 
returned  watchfully  toward  Ting's  house. 

"  No  mistake,  this  time !  "  observed  Sir  Archi- 
bald in  curt  short  tones,  turning  up  the  collar  of 
his  coat. 

"  None,"  said  Caglioni,  without  removing  his 
bright  gaze  from  the  door.  "  I  didn't  want  to 
take  chances  and  so  summoned  you  and  told  you  to 
communicate  with  the  others." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  of  your  man  —  that  you've 
followed  the  right  one  who  got  the  pearls  at  the 
station?" 


300  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  Not  only  did  he  answer  the  description  James 
gave  of  him,  but  I  recognized  in  the  fellow,  a  dealer 
in  curios  and  artificial  pearls  we  had  met  before. 
You  remember,  surely,  this  very  place;  he  had  in 
his  show-cases  the  pearl  Buddhas  made  by  the 
process  discovered  by  Ye-jin-yang  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  Oh,  there's  no  room  for  error  now ! " 
Caglioni's  voice  vibrated.  "  I  would  stake  my  life 
on  it." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Sir  Archibald  cynically,  and  a 
little  curiously,  "  why  you  bring  so  much  of  that 
Latin  temperament  of  yours  into  this  matter  —  on 
a  cursed  damp  night,  too  —  as  if  there  might  be 
something  almost  personal  between  you  and  —  this 
Bruce!" 

"  Personal !  "  Caglioni  shrugged.  "  I  do  not  for- 
get last  night  near  the  Goldberg  house." 

"Only  that?" 

The  secretary's  eyes  burned  into  the  night;  he 
did  not  answer.  Sir  Archibald,  too,  remained 
silent  a  few  moments.  Perhaps  he  was  just  then 
thinking  of  something  "  personal,"  himself,  between 
him  and  this  fellow.  His  wooing  had,  somehow, 
come  to  an  abrupt  standstill.  But  after  to-morrow, 


THE  SNARE  301 

when  she  would  know,  when  he  could  speak  and 
tell  all  —  when  all  the  world  would  know,  for  that 
matter  —  ah,  then!  Delectable  consummation! 

And  Sir  Archibald's  look,  fastened  on  the  door- 
way opposite,  seemed  at  that  instant  as  grimly  elo- 
quent as  the  glint  of  a  bayonet,  bent  on  the  business 
of  the  empire. 

"  Time  Bolger  was  here,"  he  observed  abruptly 
in  harsh  accents,  puffing  harder  at  his  cigar. 

'  There  he  comes  now !  "  Caglioni's  voice  was 
full  of  eager  malice.  "And  he  has  his  men  with 
him!" 

"  Of  course !  In  a  raid  of  this  kind  there  must 
be  no  slipping  through  the  meshes." 

Both  men  looked  down  the  street,  at  the  dis- 
tant, dimly  seen  forms,  drawing  nearer.  At  the 
same  moment  the  arc  lamp  began  once  more  to 
sputter.  Red,  sullen  sparks  fell  from  it;  leaping 
shadows  danced  this  way  and  that.  The  wind  set  a 
street  sign  to  creaking  dolorously.  Another  sound 
mingled  with  it,  that  of  a  door  hurriedly  swung  out 
and  back  again,  as  some  one  —  an  Oriental,  by  his 
dress  —  slipped  from  Ting's  place  and  started 
swiftly  down  the  street. 


302  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  The  Chinaman !  He's  discarded  his  European 
clothes !  "  exclaimed  Caglioni. 

"Quick!  After  him!  He  must  not  escape. 
I'll  see  that  Bruce  doesn't  get  away.  It  may  only  be 
a  ruse  to  draw  us  from  the  door." 

The  secretary  waited  no  longer,  but  sped  at  once 
after  the  fleeing  figure.  In  the  momentary  dark- 
ness it  seemed  to  elude  him,  to  fade  from  view. 
Then,  by  the  aid  of  another  street  lamp,  less  ca- 
pricious, he  caught  sight  of  Ting's  form  once 
more.  But  the  rain  coming  down  faster,  aided  the 
fugitive;  it  had  sent  people  indoors.  The  block 
ahead  was  deserted,  as  seemed  the  little  alley  into 
which  the  frightened  Chinaman  next  turned. 

Caglioni  began  to  breathe  low  maledictions;  it 
was  not  difficult  to  divine  the  cause  of  the  Oriental's 
sudden,  desperate  flight.  He  had  learned  there 
were  men  in  front  of  the  restaurant  and  guessed  the 
next  move  of  the  aggressors.  Returning  the  pearls, 
no  doubt,  to  Bruce,  Ting  had  trusted  to  his  legs  and 
the  darkness  to  extricate  him,  once  and  for  all,  from 
the  affair.  On  the  morrow,  he  would  not  be  found  ; 
his  shop  would  be  deserted,  and  no  trace  of  him 
would  ever  again  be  discovered  by  those  of  the 


THE  SNARE  303 

Occidental  race.  Did  not  Caglioni  know,  had  he 
not  had  experience  with  Ting  and  his  kind,  who 
can  slip  out  of  the  narrowest  places,  and  disap- 
pear as  completely  as  if  they  had  faded  into  thin 
air? 

The  secretary  set  his  teeth.  This  yellow  devil 
was  pursuing  his  tactics  of  earlier  in  the  day;  but 
he  would  get  him  now.  He  was  a  necessary  link 
in  the  chain  of  evidence  to  rid  himself  of  one  whom 
he  had  such  excellent  reason  to  fear  —  Chatfield 
Bruce,  a  constant  menace  to  Caglioni's  own  peace  of 
mind,  his  safety,  his  life,  even.  The  secretary  ran 
faster;  he  saw  with  gratification  the  distance  be- 
tween him  and  the  other  lessening. 

Ting,  at  first,  had  given  evidence  of  unusual  fleet- 
ness,  greater  even  than  Caglioni  himself  could 
boast ;  obviously,  however,  the  Chinaman's  "  staying 
power  "  was  not  now  all  it  might  have  been.  He 
appeared  to  slacken  and  weaken,  running  like  a  man 
who  could  go  but  little  farther.  They  were  now 
a  couple  of  blocks  from  the  scene  of  the  proposed 
raid.  Caglioni  did  not  doubt  his  ability  soon  to 
return  there  with  his  man.  He  did  not  imagine  the 
other  would  resist;  the  Chinaman,  by  nature,  is 


304  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

essentially  a  man  of  peace  and  will  yield,  without 
striking  back,  when  pushed  into  a  corner. 

Flear  the  street  Ting  went  on  yet  more  slowly. 
There  would  be,  however,  no  convenient  cab  for  him 
to  slip  into  when  he  reached  that  thoroughfare. 
Caglioni  felt  fairly  assured  of  this;  the  other  would 
not  now  escape  the  secretary's  longing  fingers. 

Peremptorily  Caglioni's  voice  rose  above  the 
patter  of  the  rain.  The  fellow  heard;  he  had  no 
choice  apparently  but  to  obey  the  stern  command. 
He  paused,  seemingly  out  of  breath,  his  hand 
pressed  to  his  side.  But  the  secretary  took  pre- 
cautions not  to  be  deceived  by  a  ruse;  he  under- 
stood the  Oriental's  inborn  cunning,  and,  as  he 
stepped  briskly  forward,  was  prepared  for  any  arti- 
fice or  emergency. 

"Lift  a  finger  to  resist,  and — "  His  voice  con- 
veyed a  sibilant  menace;  the  gleaming  weapon  in 
his  hand  lent  it  emphasis. 

Ting's  response  was  immediate,  piteous,  scarcely 
distinguishable  for  want  of  breath ;  Pidgin-English 
and  Chinese  dialect  mingled  confusedly  in  his  im- 
ploring tones.  He  hoped,  trusted,  the  honorable 


THE  SNARE  305 

one  would  not  take  the  most  unworthy  Ting  back; 
he  would  pay,  reward  handsomely  the  honorable 
one;  he  who  was  more  exalted  than  the  moon  and 
the  stars. 

The  secretary  contemptuously  interrupted  him; 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of  Ting's 
apprehensions,  expressed  in  that  strange  jargon. 

"  Come ! "  said  Caglioni  scornfully,  laying  a 
rough  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "  You'll  pay 
and  no  mistake,  but  not  me.  March !  " 

The  fellow  obeyed;  but  his  shoulder  seemed  to 
shrink  at  that  touch  and  his  implorings  to  become 
more  earnest: 

"  Most  honorable  and  illustrious  —  I  implore  — 
me,  miserable  one,  lowly  as  the  dust  " — 

He  was  trembling  now,  or  —  a  shaft  of  light, 
between  walls,  suddenly  fell  on  his  face  as  they  went 
forward.  He  was  laughing!  Caglioni  started  back. 

"  You !  "  he  stammered,  in  amazement,  conster- 
nation. 

"  Drop  it !  "  said  Bruce  smilingly.  "  Don't  lift 
that  arm,  please;  and  just  let  that  little  plaything 
fall  from  your  fingers.  You  will  not  hesitate,  I 


306  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

trust  " —  the  weapon  in  his  own  hand  was  against 
Caglioni's  side  — "  to  grant  this  slight  request.  Be- 
lieve me,  as  a  friend,  I  advise  you  not  to." 

The  secretary  did  not  hesitate;  it  was  he,  now, 
who  appeared  unmanned.  The  alley  was  lonely, 
deserted,  the  very  spot  for  a  darksome  deed.  Bruce 
bent  suddenly  forward  and  whispered  a  name  into 
the  secretary's  ear.  His  low  voice  was  at  once 
gay  and  thrilling,  very  mocking,  too.  Caglioni 
trembled  and  leaned  back  against  the  wall  as  if  for 
support;  he  had  not  heard  that  name  for  many 
years. 

"Hush!  Not  here  in  this  neighborhood  of  all 
in  New  York ! "  Afar,  through  the  storm,  came 
the  faint  twing-twang  of  a  Chinese  musical  instru- 
ment. 

"  Come !  "  said  Bruce  facetiously.  "  Our  little 
walk  —  shall  we  not  take  it  ?  And  our  little  talk  — 
we  must  not  miss  that.  I  regret  the  weather  is  not 
more  favorable  for  a  charming  heart-to-heart  con- 
versation and  stroll." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  ?  "  the  secretary 
managed  to  say.  All  the  antagonism  had  left  him 


THE  SNARE  307 

now ;  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  into  the  darkness 
as  a  man  might  turn  for  a  moment  to  look  back 
into  a  black  past. 

"  I  think,"  said  Bruce  easily,  "  I  half-placed  you 
when  first  I  saw  you,  although  you  have  changed 
much  and  have  a  beard.  It  was  your  eyes  that  gave 
me  the  first  inkling  of  the  truth;  I  never  forget 
eyes." 

They  walked  on,  out  into  the  street,  on  and  on, 
away  from  Ting's  place. 

"  You  thought  I  might  recognize  you,  some- 
time," murmured  Bruce,  very  close  to  the  other,  a 
hand  in  his  pocket,  holding  now  the  something  hard 
that  just  touched,  made  itself  felt  to  his  companion. 
"  And  so,  at  Comscot,  as  I  passed  the  back  of  Mr. 
Wood's  place,  you  sought  to  make  me  a  slight  pres- 
ent, but  only  succeeded  in  notching  my  new  straw 
hat." 

"  Would  you  believe  me  if  I  denied  it?  " 

"You?"  murmured  Bruce  in  mild  surprise. 
"Who  have  made  lying  a  profession?  Beside 
whom,  Cateline,  Lazarillo  de  Tonnes  and  all  the 
other  mentcurs  a  triple  etage  of  history,  appear 


3o8  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

models  of  candor  and  veracity!  You!  My  dear 
friend!  "  An  accent  of  pained  reproof  manifested 
itself  in  his  tones. 

"  I  wish  the  *  slight  present,'  as  you  call  it,  had 
done  more  than  notch  a  new  hat,"  muttered  Cag- 
lioni. 

Bruce  gave  a  care-free  laugh.  "  How  charming ! 
To  see  you  recovering  your  spirits,  my  good  fel- 
low !  "  He  stopped.  "  But  alas !  soon  now  must  we 
part.  And  never  more  do  I  expect  to  see  you. 
Never  more,"  he  repeated — "mournful  words!  " 

Caglioni  waited ;  looked  at  him.  "  I  suppose 
that's  not  all,  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Almost."  Bruce  regarded  him  up  and  down. 
"I've  arranged  that  if  anything  happens  to  me  to- 
night your  secret  will  not  be  kept.  There's  a  bit  of 
paper  in  my  strong-box  with  a  little  writing  on  it 
that  will  become  the  property  of  others,  in  case  — 
You  understand?  "  The  secretary  swallowed. 

"  The  Nine-times-Nine  numbers  only  a  few  mil- 
lion members,  more  or  less.  I  neither  condemn  nor 
approve  of  them;  but  they  exist.  I  accept  them 
merely  as  a  fact.  They  never  forget,  nor  forgive 
—  if  they  know,"  he  added  significantly,  "where 


THE  SNARE  309 

to  put  their  hands  on  whom  they  seek,  the  traitor, 
he  who  betrayed  them. 

"  Let  us  go  back.  You  belonged  to  them ;  you 
sold  their  secrets.  You  even  managed  to  capture, 
for  the  reward  offered,  a  certain  benevolent  pirate, 
when  —  Well,  I,  as  you  know,  with  a  small  band, 
hurriedly  organized  from  the  '  children  of  the 
plain,'  interfered.  We  freed  Ting's  father,  the 
pirate,  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  It  was 
great  sport."  Caglioni  bestowed  upon  him  a  ma- 
licious look. 

"  You  did  not  find  it  so  ?  You  managed  to  es- 
cape, disguised,  made  your  way  by  devious  routes, 
as  a  priest,  into  upper  India,  where  you  fell  in  with 
our  good,  but  rather  stupid  friend,  Sir  Archibald  — " 
the  secretary's  teeth  made  a  sound  — "  who  was 
engaged  by  his  government  in  the  vain  task  of 
eliminating  the  Nine-times-Nine  in  India  —  elimi- 
nating by  substitution,  a  la  Anglo-Saxon;  giving 
them  something  better!  Unfortunately  for  you, 
wherever  Buddhism  reigns  your  life  would  have 
been  forfeited  if  it  became  known  who  you  were. 
Chance  brought  you  here.  You  knew  me  —  a  pos- 
sible menace  to  your  own  safety  and  probably  repre- 


310  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

sented  to  Sir  Archibald  I  was  a  member  of  the 
Nine-times-Nine  —  a  mistake,  though  they  forced 
on  me  this  symbol  of  power  among  them,  out  of 
gratitude  for  having  saved  one  of  the  number  —  a 
better  man  than  you !  " 

Bruce  showed  a  ring  with  a  design,  the  "  Dawn," 
a  circle  above  a  straight  line,  the  sun  rising  above 
the  earth.  "  Very  eloquent,  these  Chinese  char- 
acters !  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  opinion,"  said  the  secretary  sourly. 

"  And  yet  you  should  have ;  you  who  are  part 
Chinese.  Your  mother  was  a  Manchu  girl.  Are 
you  ashamed  of  her?  " 

"  Come  to  the  point ! "  said  Caglioni  hoarsely. 
Rage,  terror,  humiliation  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  most  filial  son !  "  murmured  Bruce  softly ; 
then  his  voice  suddenly  changed.  "  You,"  he  went 
on  crisply,  "  are  thought  to  be  dead ;  it  was  cleverly 
arranged,  on  your  part.  Lo,  you  are  found  to  be 
living!  Is  there  a  spot  in  this  world  where  you 
would  be  safe  from  death?  Worse!  From  tor- 
ture? You  know  these  people." 

Caglioni's  expression  showed  that  he  did. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  said. 


THE  SNARE  311 

Bruce's  eye  lighted  approvingly.  "  I  see  you  ap- 
preciate the  point  —  fully !  "  he  observed,  with 
merry  accent  on  the  last  word.  "  Too  bad  we  did 
not  understand  each  other  better  before,  eh,  mon 
ami?  Since  last  night  you  have  been  to  me  slightly 
irritating,  like  a  disagreeable  insect.  But  I  forgive 
you;  between  us  in  the  future  exist  only  halcyon 
thoughts." 

"  Anything  more?  "  observed  the  secretary.  His 
face  wore  an  odd  pallor ;  the  rain  dripped  from  him. 

"  You  will  leave  New  York  to-night,"  said  Bruce 
in  the  same  gentle  tones.  "  Make  what  excuses 
you  please  to  Sir  Archibald.  You,"  waving  his 
hand  airily,  "  have  ceased  to  be  a  factor  in  the 
New  World,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  have  never 
been  here  or  heard  of  such  vain  baubles  as  the 
Goldberg  pearls ;  they  have  passed  from  your  mind, 
as  if  they  had  never  existed.  And  all  the  small 
array  of  mortals,  more  or  less  interesting,  or  viva- 
cious, that  fluttered  around  them !  They,  too,  have 
passed  like  the  figment  of  a  dream.  You  have  en- 
tered into  another  metamorphosis ;  only  no  Ovid  will 
ever  sing  of  your  new  transmutation." 

A  moment  he  stood,  a  bizarre  figure,  in  saturated 


312  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

silken  garments,  his  face  clear,  finely  chiseled,  out- 
lined against  a  slant  of  rain.  Then  the  long,  white 
hand  made  another  gesture,  half -playful,  though  the 
light  of  his  eyes  had  never  been  brighter,  more  com- 
pelling. Caglioni  turned;  moved  softly,  silently 
away. 

Bruce  looked  after  him,  as  more  and  more  indis- 
tinct became  the  secretary's  figure.  At  last  it  van- 
ished, and  only  the  fine  drops  of  rain,  making  count- 
less oblique  lines  against  the  yellowish,  sodden- 
appearing  background,  met  the  observer's  gaze. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    JAPANESE    PLAY 

TWO  months  passed  and  nothing  more  was 
heard  of  the  Goldberg  pearls.  The  social 
season  had  opened  at  high  pressure.  New  York 
was  at  its  gayest,  and  the  little  affair  at  Comscot 
was  apparently  soon  forgotten  by  every  one  except 
a  few  of  the  principals  who  were  closely  concerned 
in  it. 

The  raid  on  Ting's  place  had  revealed  nothing; 
the  European  clothes  that  unassuming  dealer  pre- 
sumably had  worn  at  the  station  and  later,  could 
not  be  found.  Caglioni,  who  could  have  brought 
evidence  against  the  Oriental,  had  vanished,  no 
lone  knew  where,  leaving  a  very  unsatisfactory  mes- 
sage behind  him  for  Sir  Archibald's  puzzled  scru- 
tiny. 

That  last  gentleman  and  Mr.  Bolger  found  them- 
selves at  an  absolute  standstill.  Since  the  afternoon 

313 


314  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

in  Sir  Archibald's  rooms  at  the  Waldorf,  Mr. 
Goldberg  had  developed  a  bad  case  of  what  the 
Englishman,  in  poker  parlance,  designated  "  frigid 
extremities " ;  he  seemed  reconciled,  nay,  rather 
anxious,  to  let  the  matter  drop.  Sir  Archibald, 
secretly  enraged,  folded  his  arms,  concealed  his  dis- 
gust, and  looked  around  for  a  new  secretary.  He 
found  one,  a  nice  little  man,  with  innocuous  face, 
and  no  past. 

With  the  opening  of  the  season,  the  usual  number 
of  charitable  occasions  were,  of  course,  in  evidence, 
and,  of  these,  none  was  looked  forward  to  with 
more  interest  than  the  oriental  evening  planned  to 
take  place  at  the  spacious  town  house  of  Mr. 
Gordon  Wood,  especially  as  it  was  known  that  Air. 
Chatfield  Bruce  had  consented  to  appear  in  a  little 
Japanese  play.  That  young  man's  histrionic 
ability  was  conceded  to  be  of  a  high  order;  people 
said  he  would  have  made  a  character  actor  of  much 
distinction  had  he  adopted  the  stage  as  a  profes- 
sion, so  great  was  his  charm  of  manner  and  personal 
repose.  He  was  at  least  the  star  of  all  the  amateurs 
the  city  could  boast  of. 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  315 

The  night  of  the  entertainment  Mr.  Wood's 
house  presented  a  scene  of  animation.  The  large 
concert  room  of  the  mansion  had  been  transformed 
into  a  fair  imitation  of  a  Japanese  theater;  the  char- 
acters in  the  play  made  their  entrances  and  exits 
in  far-eastern  style  along  the  flower-walk  leading 
to  the  stage. 

The  audience  assembled,  for  the  most  part,  in 
the  little  squares  divided  off  for  them  in  the  orches- 
tra; at  the  back  of  the  room  were  a  half  dozen 
improvised  boxes.  As  a  concession  to  civilized 
occidental  muscles  that  refuse  to  adapt  themselves 
to  the  posture  of  Buddha,  low  chairs  had  been  placed 
in  the  squares.  The  effect  was  rather  incongruous, 
but  no  one  criticized;  comfort  had  to  be  considered. 
There  were  a  few  effective  flower  "  arrangements  "  ; 
not  many. 

These  Chatfield  Bruce,  now  waiting  for  his 
cue  in  the  men's  greenroom,  tentatively,  in  the 
least  critically,  regarded  as  he  peered  through  an 
opening  out  into  the  theater.  On  the  stage  a 
trio  of  genuine  acrobats,  paid  performers  from  the 
land  of  the  chrysanthemums,  were  entertaining  the 


316  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

audience  with  juggling;  between  hangings  of  an- 
tique priest-robes,  could  be  seen  the  people  as- 
sembled in  the  cause  of  charity.  They  accepted 
diminutive  tea-cups  of  hot  saki  or  tea ;  a  few  of  the 
men  endeavored  to  make  use  of  the  tiny  Japanese 
pipes,  with  more  or  less  success  and  good-natured 
comment. 

All  seemed  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  the  entertain- 
ment; Bruce  listened  to  the  sounds  of  merriment. 
He  was  alone  in  the  greenroom.  Those  of  the  men 
who  later  had  "  parts  "  to  fill  now  mingled  with 
the  people,  as  did  the  Japanese  princesses  and  geisha 
girls  who  afterward  were  to  appear  in  the  play. 
These  last,  laughing  and  gay,  moved  about  among 
the  guests,  according  to  the  fashion  on  such  occa- 
sions ;  among  them  the  young  man  saw  Miss  Mar- 
jorie  Wood. 

With  eyes  very  brilliant  under  the  black  lashes, 
and  cheeks  deeply  tinted,  she  paused  here,  to  chat; 
there,  to  join  in  the  laughter.  She  appeared  the 
young  hostess,  par  excellence,  gracious  and  beauti- 
ful in  her  clinging  oriental  robe  of  some  silken, 
lustrous  material,  violet  and  blue  in  tone. 

Bruce's  gaze  followed  her.     He  noted  with  what 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  317 

pride  she  held  her  head,  the  exquisite  distinction 
that  characterized  her  every  movement.  The 
watcher's  lids  lowered  very  slightly,  as  an  artist's 
may,  when  suddenly  confronted  by  something  inex- 
pressibly lovely  in  nature.  A  bit  that  appeals  to 
all  that  is  poetic,  dreamy  in  him,  that  he  looks  at 
as  through  a  silvery,  hazy  medium !  Because,  per- 
haps, it  is  set  so  far  away  from  him,  so  remote, 
unattainable,  save  as  a  vision! 

Bruce  turned.  But  the  violet  and  blue  tints  of 
May-time  continued  to  play  in  his  fancy ;  to  dis- 
pel them,  he  reached  for  his  "  part "  from  a  divan 
and  started  to  study  it. 

As  if  he  did  not  already  know  it  well!  The 
mocking  thought  insinuated  itself  in  his  brain.  So 
well,  it  had  not  been  necessary  for  him  to  attend 
rehearsals;  never  mind  about  him,  he  had  written 
the  ladies  of  the  committee;  let  them  just  arrange 
all  the  rest  of  the  "  business,"  the  other  details  of 
the  playlet,  and  he  promised  to  "  fit  in  "  without  the 
slightest  friction.  As  his  role  constituted  prac- 
tically the  entire  one-act  little  piece,  they  could  not 
very  well  demur;  especially  as  he  had  informed 
them  that  otherwise  he  would  find  it  absolutely  im- 


318  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

possible  to  proceed  with  his  part  in  the  performance, 
at  all. 

So  the  chorus  was  drilled  and  the  supernumer- 
aries, and  Mr.  Bruce,  "  too  busy,  no  doubt,  to  at- 
tend rehearsals,"  in  the  general  verdict  of  all  the 
ladies,  save  Miss  Wood,  was  suffered  to  have  his 
way.  The  young  girl,  appealed  to  in  the  matter, 
had  voiced  no  opinion;  during  the  flitting  moment 
they  had  met  and  spoken  to  each  other  that  night, 
but  a  few  conventional  words  had  been  said;  her 
eyes,  starlike,  had  met  his;  seemed  as  if  they  would 
have  held  him  yet  longer.  But  with  blithe  mien 
and  manner,  he  had  gaily  made  way  for  others; 
her  laugh,  a  little  forced,  at  some  one  else's  words 
or  witticism,  had  followed  him  as  he  turned  from 
her. 

It  rang  in  his  brain ;  thrilling,  silvery !  It  would 
follow  him  down  the  pathway  of  time,  amid  strange, 
far-away  scenes.  Che  sara,  sara!  What  was  writ- 
ten, was  written !  One  must  pass  through  different 
lives,  gehennas,  realms  of  Pluto,  and  all  that. 

Again  he  bent  over  the  "  part,"  his  present  mo- 
mentary concern,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  sank  down, 
native  fashion,  upon  a  rug.  His  supple  muscles 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  319 

adapted  themselves  readily  to  the  attitude,  his  thin 
lips,  as  he  merged  into  the  role  he  considered,  wore 
a  suggestion  of  that  illusive  irony  one  occasionally 
encounters  in  a  bronze  of  the  Ming  period.  Sud- 
denly the  enigmatic  lids  lifted  and  showed  the 
full  radiance  of  his  eyes.  They  were  rather  re- 
markable eyes  now,  replete  with  lights,  like  the 
play  of  bright  moonbeams  between  dark  clouds. 
He  had  turned  his  head  to  listen  to  a  peremptory 
tapping  from  without;  the  little  Japanese  play  had 
begun. 

To  most  of  those  in  the  audience  the  plot  of  the 
little  play  went  for  nothing;  the  production  seemed 
mainly  picturesque,  replete  with  unreal  people  and 
titles,'  with  many  fantastic  scenes.  But  the  cos- 
tumes and  the  acting  of  Chatfield  Bruce  and  Mar- 
jorie  Wood  more  than  saved  the  day,  or  the  even- 
ing. 

The  young  hostess,  in  the  role  of  Miss  Happy- 
for-a-Thousand- Years,  presented,  as  the  society  re- 
porters afterward  affirmed,  an  adequate  "  interpre- 
tation of  that  ironically  felicitous  part."  When  her 
lover,  the  beggar-prince,  who  robs  the  rich  to  give 
to  the  poor,  was,  in  the  natural  course  of  events, 


320  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

or  vicissitudes,  led  to  the  executioner,  at  the  com- 
mand of  her  future  lord,  the  great  Shogun,  she 
"  changed  her  state,"  very  beautifully,  in  other 
words,  died.  And  with  artistic  consistency  she  re- 
fused to  come  out  again,  in  answer  to  numerous 
recalls,  as  did  Mr.  Bruce,  after  he  was  supposed 
to  have  paid  the  final  penalty. 

Instead,  the  curtain  again  went  up  and  the  audi- 
ence was  regaled  with  the  sight  of  a  single  cherry 
tree.  Had  they  remained  quiet,  they  would  have 
heard  the  faint  sound  of  the  wind.  They  could 
see,  however,  the  branches  of  the  tree  move,  the 
blossoms  fall  one  by  one  as  the  curtain  went  down 
for  the  last  time  on  the  pretty  fluttering  things. 
What  did  it  mean?  Several  in  the  audience  looked 
at  one  another.  Was  it  symbolical? 

The  pupils  of  Miss  Flossie's  eyes,  bent  on  the 
stage  from  one  of  the  boxes,  were  slightly  dilated ; 
with  fingers  pressed  closely  against  her  warm  palms, 
she  had  witnessed  the  lovers'  parting.  The  scene 
was,  of  course,  most  unnatural  from  the  European, 
or  American  standpoint.  Ceremonious  bows! 
That  leave-taking  seemed  pitifully  cold.  Only  the 
eyes  spoke,  yet  how  much  they  said ! 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  321 

Those  of  Chatfield  Bruce  seemed  to  express  in 
that  brief  moment  more  than  a  volume  of  words; 
Marjorie  Wood's  puzzled  Miss  Flossie.  What  did 
she  read  in  their  depths  ?  Incredulity ;  wonder- 
ment; half-understanding?  Miss  Burke  had  not 

,  * 
followed    the    plot;    she    liked    her    plays    allegro, 

rivace;  this  stage  representation  was  double  adagio. 

Had  she  seen  the  play  within  the  play,  the  chances 
are  she  would  have  been  more  interested;  had  she 
looked  behind  the  curtain  a  moment  later,  her  curi- 
osity, if  no  livelier  feeling,  would  have  been  greatly 
stirred. 

Chatfield  Bruce  and  Marjorie  Wood  stood  there, 
now,  on  the  stage  alone.  Forgotten  were  the  char- 
acters of  the  play ;  it  was  two  real  people  who  looked 
at  each  other. 

'  You  said  I  might  see  you  once  more,  and  so  I 
came  to-night,"  he  began. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  All  the  bright  color  had 
gone ;  she  was  very  pale. 

"I  —  I  promised  to  explain  a  little,"  he  went  on, 
inexorably,  with  seeming  ease.  He  could  not  show 
her  any  of  the  pain  that  the  knowledge  of  the  im- 
measurable gulf  between  them  made  him  feel. 


322  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

"  But  it  would  have  been  much  easier  just  to  have 
left,  to  have  gone  away,  without  that." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  slightly.  "You  are  going 
away,  then?"  she  managed  to  say. 

"  Yes ;  oh,  yes,"  he  answered  carelessly. 

The  shining  draperies  about  her  stirred.  "  Far?  " 
came  from  her  lips.  She  seemed  speaking  without 
volition  of  her  own. 

"  As  far  as  may  be !  "  he  said,  with  a  reckless 
laugh. 

He  had  to  keep  to  his  part  now;  no  playing  the 
craven  at  that  moment,  though  this  was  the  hardest 
task  he  had  ever  set  himself.  She  drew  a  little 
from  him;  perhaps  the  laugh  and  the  precipitate 
light  shining  from  his  eyes,  in  some  way,  cut  her. 
A  belated  blossom  fell  and  clung  to  her.  He  looked 
at  the  tiny  trifle;  it  would  long  cling  to  his  mem- 
ory. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  found  that  key,"  he  spoke  with 
what  seemed  brusk,  terrible  bluntness.  "  But  it 
was  chronicled  in  the  book  of  fate.  One  of  the 
sisters  three  led  your  footsteps  straight  to  it.  Why 
did  you  not  give  me  up?"  She  did  not  answer. 
"  It  would  have  been  easier  for  me  than  this." 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  323 

His  long  shapely  fingers  lifted  involuntarily  to  his 
brow;  the  last  words  had  broken  from  his  lips  in  a 
different  tone  than  she  had  ever  heard  from  him 
before.  She  put  her  hand  back  of  her  and  touched 
the  stage  tree.  He  straightened.  Again,  light, 
careless,  easy,  he  was  very  handsome  to  look  at;  a 
figure  to  have  found  favor  in  any  woman's  eyes. 
"  Wouldn't  it  be  better,  if  I  did  just  go  now,  with- 
out — " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  very  still, 
unlike  her  own;  she  did  not  seem  herself  at  all,  to 
him,  nor  to  herself. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  He  would  have  to  go  on  to  the 
end ;  did  he  not  know  he  would  be  forced  to  do 
so,  when  he  came  there  that  night?  The  play  had 
been  but  the  text,  the  key-note ;  the  real  drama  came 
after  the  curtain  was  down.  Without  now,  in 
front  of  the  stage,  the  servants  were  beginning  to 
clear  away  the  little  partitions  of  the  boxes  and 
squares,  for  the  dance  that  would  follow.  "  Where 
shall  I  begin?  That  is  the  point,"  he  observed 
with  light  helplessness.  "  It  all  seems  so  incom- 
prehensible, unexplainable,  when  one  attempts  to 
explain,"  he  remarked.  "  I  didn't  know  how  ex- 


324  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

traordinarily  difficult  it  would  be.  Of  course,  you 
know,  I'm  a  thief !  " 

She  shivered.  Her  lips  were  very  uncertain. 
She  seemed  to  try  to  speak,  but  could  not;  the 
cherry  blossoms  lay  mockingly  bright  at  her  feet. 

"  I  guess  that's  the  best  way  to  start,"  said  Chat- 
field  Bruce  contemplatively.  He  looked  at  her 
now,  but  did  not  seem  to  see  her;  some  vista,  far 
beyond,  engrossed  his  look.  "  A  plain  Dick  Tur- 
pin,  Robert  Macaire,  Jack  Sheppard,  or  any  of 
that  ilk,  if  you  please.  Voilal  So  much  estab- 
lished, one  can  go  on  —  or  rather,  go  backward !  " 
he  laughed.  He  did  not  spare  himself  now. 

"  It  began  far  up  one  of  the  rivers  of  China, 
where  even  in  these  enlightened  days,  the  genuine, 
old-fashioned  pirate  yet  flourishes.  The  idea,  I 
mean,  began  there ;  perhaps  was  unconsciously  sug- 
gested by  a  certain  old  river-pirate  whose  life  I  once 
happened  to  save.  But  that's  another  story;  if  you 
ever  meet  Senor  Caglioni,  again,  which  I  doubt, 
he  could  tell  you  about  it.  This  bucaneer  of  the 
yellow  stream,"  he  went  on  in  ironical,  scoffing 
accents,  "  was  a  terrible  fellow.  In  times  of  fam- 
ine, when  thousands  were  dying  and  the  Chinese 


THE  JAPANESE  PLAY  325 

merchants  hoisted  the  price  of  rice  to  a  prohibitive 
figure,  this  wicked  corsair  helped  himself  at  the 
sword's  point  to  all  the  cereal,  and  distributed  it 
for  nothing  to  the  famished  hordes.  Primitive 
socialism!  There  was  something  delightfully  naive 
about  it  to  me.  I  cherished  a  positive  liking  for 
the  old  marauder.  Of  course  they  got  his  head  in 
the  end;  but  when  his  spirit,  like  that  of  the  man's 
in  the  poem,  swung  past  the  milky  way  to  the 
realms  of  Pluto,  I'll  warrant  there  was  no  '  what 
some  one  else  said,'  '  what  some  one  else  did  or 
thought,'  as  he  met  the  dark  master's  queries.  A 
law  unto  himself!"  musingly.  "A  personality!" 
He  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  "  That  seems  about 
all,"  he  remarked.  "  The  rest  becomes  merely 
episodical  and  degenerates  into  mere  vulgar  details." 

'You  have  always  given  away,  then — "  Was 
she  speaking  or  was  it  a  dream?  He  answered. 
From  somewhere  not  far  away,  the  orchestra  tuning 
their  instruments,  could  be  heard. 

"And  Mr.  Page  —  those  bonds?" — She  hardly 
knew  what  she  was  saying. 

"  Some  time  ago,  he  foisted  on  a  certain  charity, 
as  advisory  member  of  the  board,  about  fifty  thou- 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A    LITTLE    GARDEN    AND    A    BIG    PORT 

A  LITTLE  shop  in  a  street  of  colonnades  at  the 
foot  of  a  great  hill  overlooking  a  big  port, 
gateway  to,  or  from,  a  magic  domain,  a  Land  of 
Nod  whose  somnolent  millions  are  just  beginning  to 
raise  their  sleepy  heads.  On  the  waters  of  the  big 
port  the  smaller  native  boats  bob  around  like 
bumblebees  busy  in  a  garden.  The  brown  junks 
lie  still  in  droves,  and  only  the  occasional  typhoon 
can  stir  them  to  general  activity  and  excitement. 
Occupying  the  more  open  spaces,  the  ships  from 
the  western  countries  swing  with  an  air  of  grave 
solidity  at  their  anchorage.  Dark  specks  clamber 
up  the  sides  of  several  of  them  from  the  coal 
lighters  around.  Big  vessels  continue  to  arrive; 
others  go.  Always  animation,  life  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  hills  that  stand  like  guardian  sentinels 
of  the  strange  land  beyond. 

The  man  in  the  little  shop  referred  to  can  not, 
328 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  329 

at  the  present  moment,  see  all  this  from  his  front 
door  which  faces  the  other  way;  but  he  knows  it  is 
there,  and,  sometimes,  perhaps,  he  likes  to  think 
of,  or  go  where  he  can  look  out  upon  the  varied 
details  of  the  picture.  Now,  however,  he  is  ab- 
sorbed in  a  paper  from  "  home  " —  America ;  he 
has  read  the  latest  news  of  graft,  politics  and 
scandal,  and  is  about  to  turn  to  the  page  devoted  to 
sermons,  when  his  gaze  is  arrested  by  a  head-line : 
"  The  Goldberg  pearls.  .  .  .  Mysteriously  re- 
turned after  more  than  four  years."  The  fine 
straight  eyes  lift  from  the  sheet.  The  man's  ex- 
pression is  one  of  ironical  disapproval  of  modern 
enterprising  newspaper  methods;  then,  suppressing 
a  yawn,  he  sits  with  a  contemplative  look  on  his 
slightly  whimsical,  clean-cut  features.  It  is  only  in 
moments  like  these,  of  perfect  repose  and  easy 
poise,  that  the  man  on  the  little  stool  in  the  door- 
way appears  any  older  than  he  who  enacted  the 
role  of  the  beggar-prince  in  the  old  classic  play  of 
the  Shoguns. 

Has  he  ever  thought  of  that  occasion  since?  His 
eyes,  somewhat  graver,  though  filled  with  a  lively 
interest  in  all  things  that  have  life,  follow  the  multi- 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A    LITTLE   GARDEN    AND   A    BIG    PORT 

A  LITTLE  shop  in  a  street  of  colonnades  at  the 
foot  of  a  great  hill  overlooking  a  big  port, 
gateway  to,  or  from,  a  magic  domain,  a  Land  of 
Nod  whose  somnolent  millions  are  just  beginning  to 
raise  their  sleepy  heads.  On  the  waters  of  the  big 
port  the  smaller  native  boats  bob  around  like 
bumblebees  busy  in  a  garden.  The  brown  junks 
lie  still  in  droves,  and  only  the  occasional  typhoon 
can  stir  them  to  general  activity  and  excitement. 
Occupying  the  more  open  spaces,  the  ships  from 
the  western  countries  swing  with  an  air  of  grave 
solidity  at  their  anchorage.  Dark  specks  clamber 
up  the  sides  of  several  of  them  from  the  coal 
lighters  around.  Big  vessels  continue  to  arrive ; 
others  go.  Always  animation,  life  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  hills  that  stand  like  guardian  sentinels 
of  the  strange  land  beyond. 

The  man  in  the  little  shop  referred  to  can  not, 
328 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  329 

at  the  present  moment,  see  all  this  from  his  front 
door  which  faces  the  other  way ;  but  he  knows  it  is 
there,  and,  sometimes,  perhaps,  he  likes  to  think 
of,  or  go  where  he  can  look  out  upon  the  varied 
details  of  the  picture.  Now,  however,  he  is  ab- 
sorbed in  a  paper  from  "  home  " —  America ;  he 
has  read  the  latest  news  of  graft,  politics  and 
scandal,  and  is  about  to  turn  to  the  page  devoted  to 
sermons,  when  his  gaze  is  arrested  by  a  head-line : 
"  The  Goldberg  pearls.  .  .  .  Mysteriously  re- 
turned after  more  than  four  years."  The  fine 
straight  eyes  lift  from  the  sheet.  The  man's  ex- 
pression is  one  of  ironical  disapproval  of  modern 
enterprising  newspaper  methods;  then,  suppressing 
a  yawn,  he  sits  with  a  contemplative  look  on  his 
slightly  whimsical,  clean-cut  features.  It  is  only  in 
moments  like  these,  of  perfect  repose  and  easy 
poise,  that  the  man  on  the  little  stool  in  the  door- 
way appears  any  older  than  he  who  enacted  the 
role  of  the  beggar-prince  in  the  old  classic  play  of 
the  Shoguns. 

Has  he  ever  thought  of  that  occasion  since?  His 
eyes,  somewhat  graver,  though  filled  with  a  lively 
interest  in  all  things  that  have  life,  follow  the  multi- 


330  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

tude;  brown,  yellow,  white!  The  bare  feet  of  the 
'ricksha  bo^s  patter  —  patter.  There's  a  rhythm 
in  the  sound;  it  soothes,  lulls.  A  Chinaman,  with 
a  visage  suggestive  of  the  inherited  calm  of  gen- 
erations of  tranquil  ancestors,  moves  silently  about, 
amid  the  rarest  of  silks  and  priests'  robes,  vases 

and    other    superb    ancient    art-pieces.     A    shop? 

• 

Rather,  a  tiny  museum,  a  room  full  of  delight  and 
treasures. 

The  Chinaman  dusts  and  rubs.  He  never  drops 
anything;  his  days  are  an  exemplification  of  ex- 
istence without  emotions  or  accidents.  The  man  in 
the  doorway  now  turns  lazily  to  regard  him. 
Patter !  —  patter !  —  the  feet  without  go  on  in- 
cessantly. Click !  —  click !  —  li  f  e  surges  through 
the  narrow  street.  The  man  hears  the  sound  of 
the  stream,  though  he  no  longer  sees  it;  his  gaze, 
half-contemplative,  half-inquiring,  continues  fas- 
tened on  the  Oriental. 

"  Let  me  see,  Ting's  Elder  Brother,  how  long  is 
it  since  we  have  been  partners?" 

"  Nearly  ten  years." 

"  And  in  that  time  we  have  amassed  a  few  pretty 
pennies  ?  " 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  331 

The  Chinaman  imperturbably  mentioned  an 
amount. 

"  Quite  a  princely  fortune !  "  commented  the  man 
on  the  stool.  "  The  people  of  your  country  are 
ideal  business  partners,"  he  laughed.  "  One  pujs  a 
little  money  with  them  and  it  grows  like  a  snow- 
ball you  haven't  even  helped  roll  along." 

"  The  collection  of  vases  and  other  articles  the 
master  left  before  he  went  to  the  New  World  were 
very  fine,"  said  the  other  in  the  smoothest  dialect 
of  Canton. 

"  They  must  have  been,"  was  the  lazy  reply, 
"  since  you  got  nearly  one  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars for  purchases  made  by  me  for  a  few  hundred 
dollars  on  one  of  my  exploring  expeditions  into  the 
interior.  Truly  art  thou  a  Prince  of  Merchants, 
oh,  Ting's  Elder  Brother,  and  a  wizard  day  was 
it  for  me  when  I  established  you  here.  An  ex- 
cellent contract  of  mine,  that  of  equal  profits  for 
setting  you  up!  And  the  joke  of  it  is,"  laughed 
the  man  on  the  stool,  "  I  really  thought  I  was  do- 
ing you  a  favor,  that  never  a  dollar  that  went  into 
the  venture  would  ever  come  out  again.  I  really 
forgot  all  about  you  and  the  little  shop  until  one 


332  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

day  in  New  York — "  his  face  graver — "a  letter 
came,  saying  something  about  good  business  in 
China." 

"  It  is  I  and  my  brothers  who  owe  much  to  the 
master,"  said  the  Oriental  musically.  "  Did  he  not 
save  — " 

"  Your  honorable  and  illustrious  father,  the 
benevolent  pirate?  "  rising.  "  True.  Heigho!  "  he 
yawned.  "  The  sleeping  partner,  having  become 
opulent,  is  also  once  more  getting  restless.  The  lit- 
tle stool  in  a  front  door,  though  a  charming  post  of 
vantage,  offers  not  sufficient  scope  for  his  fevered 
brain." 

"  The  master  has  only  been  back  from  one  of  his 
journeys  about  a  week." 

"  A  week?     It  has  seemed  a  year." 

"  Well,"  sententiously,  "  if  the  master  must  go  so 
soon  again,  in  the  town  of  Tei-to,  near  the  borders 
of  Thibet,  there  is,  I  have  heard,  an  honorable  fam- 
ily who  have  had  for  many  generations,  three  an- 
cient vases  — " 

"  Which,  if  you  got,  you  could  set  your  own 
price  on  for  some  barbarian  American?  Good! 
My  countrymen  must  have  works  of  art,  Ting's 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  333 

Elder  Brother.  And  to  get  these  there  may  be 
offered  an  adventure.  Besides  — "  He  stopped, 
thinking  of  a  delicate,  secret  service  then  engrossing 
him,  work  he  had  taken  upon  himself,  through  mo- 
tives of  patriotism,  for  his  government  at  Washing- 
ton. An  unique,  silent  figure,  Chatfield  Bruce  went 
here,  there,  everywhere,  ostensibly  to  procure  val- 
uable curios,  but  more  especially  on  confidential  busi- 
ness pertaining  to  the  awakening  and  the  future  of 
this  vast  empire. 

The  powers  at  home  were  interested,  curious; 
they  wanted  to  know  much  and  to  do  a  great  deal. 
Disdaining  conpensation  for  his  services,  Bruce  had 
mixed  somewhat  in  the  game  between  nations, 
never  outwardly,  but  secretly,  with  true  oriental 
subtlety.  He  understood  these  people,  liked  and 
trusted  them,  and  they  knew  him. 

The  wanderlust  for  the  wastes  and  the  deserts 
and  the  walled  cities  that  loom  up  like  magic  to 
startle  the  vision,  was  on  him  again;  the  big  port, 
half-Europeanized,  had  begun  to  pall  on  his  fancy. 
Now  he  walked  once  or  twice  back  and  forth,  in 
the  wonderful  little  shop;  touched  here  and  there 
with  caressing  finger  some  object;  paused  at  the 


334  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

sight  of  the  newspaper  that  had  dropped  from  his 
hand  to  the  soft  rug.  News  from  home !  —  He 
continued  to  regard  the  sheet.  Paltry  news,  that 
told  him  only  of  what  he  already  knew.  Sundry, 
to  the  public  unexplainable,  repayments  to  Gold- 
berg, Morrow,  Page  and  others.  Vis  comic  a? 
Instead  of  Morrow,  for  example,  returning  to  the 
widows  and  orphans  what  that  eminently  respectable 
gentleman  and  pillar  of  society  had  stolen  through 
his  big  asphalt  swindle,  it  had  been  he,  Bruce,  after 
all,  who  had  made  restitution  from  his  own  pocket- 
l>ook.  An  ironical  turn  of  fortune !  How  Mor- 
row, et  al,  would  have  a  right  to  rub  their  hands 
complacently  if  they  only  knew  the  details!  Trav- 
esty —  burlesque  —  farce !  His  poor  socialistic  the- 
ories! As  excellent  as  any;  perhaps,  a  little  bet- 
ter! 

Had  he  ever  really  believed  in,  or  cared  for  them  ? 
The  end  justifying  the  means?  Or  had  the  sar- 
donic jest  of  it  all,  the  risks,  the  mad  excitement 
appealed  to  an  odd,  wild,  seemingly  untamable 
substratum  in  his  nature?  Who  might  say?  The 
Then  was  as  much  a  puzzle  as  the  Now.  The 
incongruous  Now!  To  have  yielded  to  old- fash- 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  335 

ioned  conventionalism,  to  have  gone  back,  re- 
trograded, become  a  mere  cog,  the  usual  ordi- 
nary, unthinking  cog !  Alack  and  alas !  But  it  was 
to  be;  had  been  ordained;  it  could  not  have  been 
otherwise.  Something  had  happened;  as  if  some 
potter  had  molded  anew  the  clay.  Totally  anew! 
Oh,  the  near-tragedy  of  being  just  a  mere  part 
of  an  orderly  machine!  Bruce  touched  the  paper 
with  his  foot.  Paltry  news,  indeed! 

A  slight  indentation  appeared  on  his  brow;  he 
tapped  a  beautiful  crystal  ball  carelessly.  If  one 
could  but  really  look  into  it  and  span  oceans  with 
the  gaze;  conjure  the  picture  one  most  wished  to 
see,  to  the  shining  depths  of  the  sphere's  pellucid 
center ! 

"  Well,  I'll  go  now  and  pack  the  little  bag,"  mur- 
mured Bruce,  at  length,  absently.  Life,  after  all, 
was  mostly  made  up  of  packing  and  unpacking  a 
grip. 

"  Can  Ting's  Elder  Brother  do  anything  more?  " 
asked  the  Chinaman. 

The  young  man  paused  in  the  doorway,  his  figure 
outlined  against  the  sunlight  on  the  pavement  of 
the  colonnade.  "  Not  unless  you  are  really  a 


336  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

necromancer  as  well  as  a  magic  merchant,"  he  an- 
swered facetiously. 

"And  if  so  —  what  want?"  said  the  other,  re- 
lapsing into  Pidgin-English. 

"  Nothing  much,  or  very  unreasonable,"  laughed 
Bruce.  "  You  might  bring  me  to  the  sleeping 
princess ;  the  way  the  genii  did  in  the  Arabian  fairy 
tale.  What  was  her  name  —  Badoura  ?  She  lived 
in  some  remote  part  of  China." 

"  Plenty  other  princesses  right  here,"  suggested 
the  active  partner  insinuatingly. 

"  Why,  so  there  are !  "  in  a  lively  tone.  And 
Chatfield  Bruce  walked  out. 

As  he  made  his  way  along  the  cool  colonnade,  a 
few  of  those  other  princesses  Ting's  Elder  Brother 
had  in  mind  looked,  more  or  less  shyly,  out  of  the 
corners  of  their  eyes  at  the  graceful,  tall  figure, 
clad  in  the  light,  immaculate  garments;  but  Chat- 
field  Bruce,  with  head  well  up,  seemed  now  only 
to  gaze  over  the  heads  of  the  passers-by,  princesses 
and  all !  At  a  corner  he  turned  and  walked  down  a 
block  or  two,  to  gaze  out  at  the  shipping. 

What  boats  had  come  in,  he  asked  one  of  the 
agents  in  front  of  an  oface  on  the  harbor  front. 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  337 

The  man  told  him  the  names  of  two  or  three  liners 
that  had  just  dropped  anchor. 

"  That's  the  Cynthia,  over  there,  from  Bombay," 
added  the  informant,  indicating  with  a  finger. 
Bruce  glanced ;  there  was  nothing  very  especial 
about  the  Cynthia  to  attract  attention.  She  had 
brought  a  fair  cargo  and  a  goodly  list  of  passen- 
gers; the  latter  had  already  been  conveyed  ashore 
by  the  noisy  hotel  launches,  and  were,  no  doubt, 
distributed  by  this  time,  in  the  various  hostelries, 
among  the  shops  or  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  for  the 
world-famed  view. 

Bruce  stepped  quickly  on;  he  was  in  a  mood  for 
action.  He  did  not  take  the  inclined  railroad  to 
his  house  and  garden,  several  hundred  feet  up  on 
the  hillside,  but  climbed  briskly  thither  while  rest- 
less, mercurial  thoughts  ran  through  his  brain. 
Was  it  only  that  the  wandering  spirit  had  again 
bitten  him?  He  passed  his  hand  lightly  across  his 
brow  and  threw  back  his  shoulders. 

Vaporous  vagaries;  he  would  have  no  more  to 
do  with  them;  he  would  think  only  of  the  practical 
concerns  of  the  hour. 

Unlocking  a  gate,  set  in  a  vine-covered  wall,  he 


338  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

found  himself  in  a  garden  of  rare  flowers  and 
plants.  The  house,  English  in  design,  looked  out 
from  its  nesting  place  upon  the  wonderful  harbor 
and  commanded  a  lofty  view  of  the  way  between 
hills  to  the  sea.  Bruce's  small  grip  was  soon 
packed;  one  could  compress  many  garments  of  light 
silk  in  that  inconsiderable  space ;  and,  leaving  a  few 
last  directions  with  his  English  butler,  the  young 
man  set  forth  for  the  inland  journey. 

That  would  lead  him  where?  He  neither  knew 
nor  cared. 

He  had  scarcely  left  his  house  out  of  sight,  when 
at  one  of  the  abrupt  turns  in  his  way  leading  down 
some  one  unexpectedly  advanced  to  speak  to  him, 
a  young  lady  who  had  been  pausing  indecisively 
near  a  flowering  space  whence  several  paths  di- 
verged. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  would  you  kindly  di- 
rect — "  She  broke  off.  "  Mr.  Bruce !  " 

Very  pale,  he  bowed.  There  was  momentary 
silence. 

"  When  did  you  arrive  ?  "  he,  at  length,  asked. 
He  did  not  call  her  "  Miss  Wood  " ;  she  was  prob- 
ably now  — 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  339 

"  This  morning,"  she  said,  "  on  the  Cynthia." 

Again,  that  silence.  It  was  broken,  at  last,  by 
him.  "  You  were  about  to  ask  the  way  to  — " 

"  Yes."  Her  eyes  were  strangely  bright ;  she 
mentioned  the  desired  destination  mechanically. 

He  indicated  a  path.  "  Three  to  the  right ;  two 
to  the  left."  He  managed  to  speak  now  in  mat- 
ter-of-fact tones.  He  saw  her  figure  straighten; 
she  was  annoyed  by  the  encounter;  annoyed!  The 
word  sang  in  his  brain;  the  leaves,  leaping  to  the 
wind,  seemed  to  rustle  it;  the  overgrown  cricket 
of  the  hills  mockingly  to  reiterate  it.  Annoyed  — 
of  course,  naturally.  What  else  should  he  expect? 
But  he  had  to  say  something. 

"  Odd  to  meet  again  like  this ! "  he  went  on. 
"  But,  after  all,  the  world  is  small."  He  uttered 
the  platitude  as  lightly  as  he  could;  it  gapped  an 
interval. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  No  more.  He  told  himself  he 
was  detaining  her,  yet  clumsily  stayed  a  moment 
longer.  He,  Chatfield  Bruce,  clumsy!  The  im- 
movable Buddha  himself  might  have  laughed. 

"You  had  a  good  voyage?" 

"Oh,  yes." 


340  THE  SOCIAL  BUCAXEER 

Was  there  anything  further  to  add  or  to  do? 
He  lifted  his  hat;  the  "China  boy"  had  come  up 
with  the  grip.  She  seemed  about  to  speak  and  an 
instant  he  waited.  Her  hand  suddenly  tightened. 
He  saw  it,  surmised  an  impatience  and  spoke  more 
quickly : 

''  You  should  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  it. 
Your  way,  I  mean,"  and  started  to  go.  Where- 
upon she  would  have  spoken  —  told  him  she  had 
heard  all  —  of  the  mysterious  restorations  to  Mor- 
row—  the  others  —  would  have  uttered  she  knew 
not  what  words  —  his  name,  certainly ;  she  did 
speak  that.  But  the  car  of  the  incline  near  by 
rushed  down  at  that  moment,  swallowing  up  the 
words  with  its  harsh  metallic  rattle  and  rumble 
and  she  stood  alone  looking  down  the  path  he  had 
gone. 

At  the  wharf  Bruce  learned  that  the  scheduled 
hour  for  the  boat's  leaving  had,  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, been  changed;  it  would  not  go  until  the 
next  morning.  He  hardly  listened  to  the  explana- 
tions for  this  sudden  alteration  in  the  time  for 
departure ;  it  was  of  little  interest  to  him,  whether 
it  had  been  caused  bv  news  of  an  outbreak  of 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  341 

cholera  somewhere,  the  need  for  fumigating  the 
boat  anew,  or  an  abrupt  warning  of  typhoon  sig- 
nals. The  circumstance,  alone,  was  of  moment  to 
him;  he  found  himself  doomed  to  remain  yet  a 
while  in  the  big  port,  twelve  hours,  or  more.  Or- 
dinarily, he  accepted  these  untoward  incidents  of 
a  traveler's  lot  with  unvarying  calmness  and  philos- 
ophy ;  but  now  a  burning  impatience  consumed  him. 

What  should  he  do  with  himself  until  morning? 
How  pass  the  remainder  of  that  afternoon;  the 
evening?  Mingling  with  the  passengers  at  the 
club?  Listening  to  globe-trotters'  yarns  over 
whisky  and  tansan?  Or  should  he  go  aboard  the 
stuffy  little  river  boat  and  remain  there,  to  hear 
big  tales  from  the  captain  about  former  days  and 
the  yellow  pirates  of  old  who  made  life  interesting 
for  the  little  pioneer  steamboats? 

In  an  unexplainable  state  of  mind  he  sauntered 
on;  he,  Chatfield  Bruce,  generally  quick  and  alert, 
now  discovered  in  himself  a  vacillating  and  dilatory 
Triplepatte.  He  experienced  a  definite  sense  of 
demoralization  and  weakening  of  an  erstwhile  in- 
cisiveness  of  character,  when  without  special  mo- 
tive, he  got  into  one  of  the  cars  of  the  inclined 


342  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

railroad,  for  no  better  reason  than  that  it  just  went 
somewhere,  and  that  such  a  destination  seemed  all- 
sufficient  and  satisfying  at  the  present  moment. 
He  got  out  mechanically  at  the  last  stop;  climbed 
where  he  had  to  climb,  and  walked  where  the  path 
led  him.  At  a  considerable  elevation,  perforce  he 
stopped ;  he  could  go  no  higher. 

The  world  lay  at  his  feet,  superb,  wonderful  — 
beautiful  green  and  sparkling  blue  —  sward  and  sea, 
neither  lovelier  than  the  other  and  overhead  the 
dreamy  azure,  unbroken  by  even  a  feather  of  a 
cloud.  Bruce  had  often  stood  here  and  looked  off. 
He  had  surveyed  the  picture  in  many  varying 
aspects.  Never  the  same  twice,  it  had  wooed  and 
won  him  in  different  alluring  guises;  but  now  he 
felt  strangely  unresponsive.  The  hills  were  only 
hills  and  the  ocean  but  the  ocean.  He  sat  down 
and  plucked  at  the  grass;  then  lay  with  his  head  in 
it  and  looked  up. 

Azure;  nothing  except  azure  above!  Its  monot- 
ony weighed  upon  him ;  the  tiniest  puff-ball  of  white 
he  would  have  welcomed.  That  blank  dome 
seemed,  perhaps,  like  his  life;  an  indefinite  space  of 
nothingness.  How  much  time  passed?  An  hour, 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  343 

or  two  hours?  It  may  be,  longer;  certainly,  quite 
a  while.  He  closed  his  eyes;  the  sunlight,  playing 
on  his  lids,  caused  him  to  see  red,  intermingled 
with  prismatic  spots  or  blurs,  shapeless,  meaning- 
less. For  a  considerable  interval  he  remained  thus ; 
the  sun  began  to  dip  in  gorgeous  triumph  toward 
the  horizon. 

Suddenly  he  sat  up  and  listened. 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  climb  any  higher,  my  dear. 
In  fact,  I  believe  I'll  go  back  to  the  Cliff  House, 
near  by.  It's  been  a  strenuous  clay,  and  a  rest  on 
the  balcony  before  dinner  rather  appeals  to  me." 

The  voice  —  a  man's  —  came  from  below.  An 
out-jutting  granite  rock  at  Bruce's  feet  concealed 
the  speaker  —  a  woman,  who  answered: 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  return  with  you." 

"  No,  no,'  my  dear ;  quite  unnecessary !  "  Mr. 
Wood's  tones  were  again  heard  in  gentle  remon- 
strance. "Go  on  up  to  the  top,  if  you  wish;  it's 
perfectly  safe,  I'm  told." 

"You  don't  really  mind,  then?" 

"  Not  a  bit !  Only,  while  you're  about  it,  I'll  be 
making  my  way  leisurely  toward  one  of  those 
veranda  chairs  at  the  hotel,"  he  laughed.  "  A  little 


"344  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

touch  of  the  rheumatism,  you  understand,  my  dear. 
I'm  not  the  climber  I  used  to  be." 

The  retreating  footsteps  died  away ;  a  hush,  death- 
like, seemed  to  embrace  the  world.  Suddenly  a 
pebble  dropped;  another!  Bruce  turned  his  eyes, 
and,  for  the  second  time  that  day,  saw  her,  now 
as  a  part  of  a  roseate  miracle,  with  the  swift, 
mantling  flush  tinting  her  cheek.  The  blue  of  her 
eyes  was  like  the  azure  touched  with  the  deepening 
shades  of  twilight;  beneath  the  darkness  of  her 
hair,  they  looked  out  upon  him,  startled,  surprised, 
and  —  glad,  yes,  glad ! 

What  did  it  mean?  Her  white  hand  was  trem- 
bling on  the  black  rock.  She  had  met  him,  after 
what  seemed  so  many  years,  again  a  few  moments 
before,  that  day,  only  to  see  him  go  away  once 
more,  this  time  for  ever,  she  was  certain.  For 
ever!  The  word  had  been  leaping  in  her  heart; 
every  beat  had  been  attuned  to  it,  and  now  — 

The  flames  of  light  played  between,  around  them 
and  struck  her  fairly.  And  his  gaze  which  he  had 
forced  to  be  conventional  when  he  had  encountered 
her  before,  now  lingered  absorbingly  on  her,  a  part 
of  the  picture,  the  sky,  merging  into  it,  making  the 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  345 

world  super-radiant  Lovers'  madness?  Perhaps. 
But  ah,  the  years  had  been  kind  to  her,  caress- 
ing her  with  soft  curving  lines,  lending  depth  — 
wondrous  depth  to  the  blue  eyes. 

Who  spoke  first?  Did  he  go  to  her,  or  she  to 
him?  The  black  months  seemed  to  fall  from  his 
shoulders,  all  restlessness  to  take  wings.  The  flames 
now  played  on  them  as  one. 

"And  Sir  Archibald?" 

"  Returned  to  India  long  ago." 

'  You  did  not  see  him  there  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  yet  he  is  not  one  lightly  to  resign.  A 
man  would  fight  hard  for  you  " —  he  smiled  — 
"  not  give  you  up  easily." 

"  Did  you,  sir,  not  give  me  up  easily,  as  you 
call  it,  that  night  of  the  Japanese  play?" 

"I  — easily!" 

"  And  went  away,  a  jest  on  your  lips!  " 

"  A  jest  ?  "  He  looked  up  at  her.  She  sat  on  a 
great  rock,  he,  at  her  feet.  "  I  did  not  feel  in  a 
jesting  mood." 

"  And    to-day,    on    the    path "  -  her    lips    were 


346  THE  SOCIAL  BUCANEER 

slightly  tremulous  — "  confess,  you  were  somewhat 
cavalier  — " 

"Ah,  I  did  not  know  then,"  with  a  glad  laugh, 
"  what  your  eyes  have  since  told  me." 

"My  eyes  told  you — " 

"  A  moment  ago  —  here  — " 

"  You  mean  I  told  you  first  that  I  — " 

"  Shall  we  say,  we  told  each  other  simultane- 
ously?" 

The  purple  lights  began  to  glow  on  the  summit. 
'  You  were  going  away  again  to-day,  when  I 
met  you  ?  " 

"But  didn't!"  he  answered.  "The  boat's 
schedule  was  changed ;  she  leaves  to-morrow  early." 

"And  you  go  then,  of  course?" 

He  got  up  and  looked  down  at  her.  Behind,  the 
sun  dipped ;  the  radiance  grew.  "  Shall  I  ?  " 

She  did  not  speak. 

"Shall  I?"  he  repeated,  mindful  only  of  the 
glory  of  her  eyes,  the  wonder  of  her  face. 

She  answered,  but  not  in  words. 

"  Marjorie !  "  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  held 
her  from  all  the  world.  A  thousand  swords  flared 


A  LITTLE  GARDEN  347 

up  from  the  horizon,  as  he  bent  over  and  kissed 
lips,  sweet  as  Aurora's! 

Aurora's !  The  Dawn,-  magic  symbol !  —  sug- 
gestive of  the  "open  sesame"  of  life!  He  had 
found  it  —  at  last.  Triumphantly  the  knowl- 
edge surged  through  him.  She  was  his  "  dawn," 
with  her  eyes  the  wonderful  blue  of  the  sky.  His 
lips  swept  over  them,  too ;  he  forgot  the  world ; 
it  lay  below  like  the  figment  of  a  dream.  The 
past  —  all  its  problems  —  had  gone  and  were  buried 
for  ever.  Not  long  before,  that  very  day,  the 
routine  he  had  stepped  into  had  seemed  anoma- 
lous; he  had  vaguely  scoffed  at  himself.  Now  it 
had  been  suddenly  illumined,  tinged  with  the  beau- 
tiful, the  marvelous,  as  if  a  miracle  had  happened. 

The  world  receded  more  and  more ;  the  stars 
came  out,  and  in  their  glad  light,  they,  very  glad, 
went  down  together. 


THE  END 





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